


Follow Me Into The Dark

by Myrime



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Dad Steve, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Stark Expo, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24233359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: Tony and Steve are friends. That's all. Even if everybody seems to believe otherwise. Steve's not gay, after all, and he doesn't have time for brilliant billionaires who make him laugh. Right?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 286
Kudos: 439
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [t0nystark1er](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0nystark1er/gifts).



> My second work for Marvel Trumps Hate for [t0nystark1er](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0nystark1er). I'm sorry it took so long, but I hope you'll like it!

The crowd is suffocating. Too many people in too small a place. The air might be filled with excitement and energetic chatter, but Steve expects to hear screams any second now. Panic can erupt so easily, and this hall is so packed with bodies that there is nowhere to run.

Familiar tension fills Steve as he sets one foot in front of the other, scanning the room for potential exit routes. He volunteered to come here; he keeps telling himself. Either way, his paranoia is ridiculous. He is a grown man and survived far worse places than a science exposition. Nothing will happen. He is just being silly.

Peter tugs at his hand, moving through the crowd without a single trace of hesitation. He is so short that he cannot see much more than a sluggishly moving wall of legs before him, but that does not slow him down.

The Stark Expo is all Peter has been talking about for weeks, ever since Bucky brought a brochure to a family dinner. Steve loved listening to them gush about whatever technical marvel they were most interested in. When Peter asked to go, there was nothing else to do but to say yes with a smile.

Bucky should be here. He would understand much more of what is being shown and talked about here, and while he has a number of his own issues, he is marginally better with crowds than Steve. But then Bucky’s prosthetic malfunctioned, and they talked him into taking care of it immediately instead of putting up with the strain of walking around with his arm as deadweight just because of the expo.

Steve never hesitated to go in his stead. Peter is the most important person in his life, and he would do anything for him. They have lost enough already.

“Can we go to the robotics hall first?” Peter asks, throwing an excited grin over his shoulder. Despite the surrounding noise, Steve hears him perfectly, too tuned to miss none of his son’s words.

One-handed, Steve reaches into his pocket to get out the map they got at the entrance. He unfolds it and tries to apply the colourful schematic on the paper to the brimming chaos around them. He is tall enough to look over most of the heads in front of him, and he thinks he catches sight of a sign to the robotics hall.

“We need to go to the left,” Steve says, staring back at his map. “It should be two halls over.”

Smiling in response, Peter immediately steers to the left, ignoring the movement of the crowd. Steve’s brain gets stuck trying to find gaps to move through. There are none. He should have expected that. At this point, Steve is sure he would fare better if he simply closed his eyes and let Peter guide him where they need to go – if only panic would not set in the moment he tried.

The famed Stark Expo is known to be brilliant and organised and filled with exciting, life-changing knowledge. A multitude of branches and fields of science get their own hall to fulfil everybody’s needs.

Steve is not a scientist. The closest he comes to ever working with any kind of precision or calculable form is when he draws circles on canvas. Peter, despite being only eight years old, already has the brain of someone who will shape the future at some point. Steve is sure he gets that from Peggy.

At the moment, Peter’s greatest obsession is robots. At fault for that is mostly Bucky with his prosthetic, a top of the line Stark model, they were lucky enough to get through a veteran program.

Somehow, they get to the left side of the main hall. Once they get to a side hall, the crowd becomes sparser. Steve takes a deep breath. The anxiety is not completely gone, still pressing down on his sternum, but he can walk without stumbling over someone else’s feet, and actually see where he is going.

The expo has only opened the day before and several speeches are scheduled in the main hall this morning, so the rush is expected. For now, fewer people have decided to seek out the specific exhibitions.

“Are you all right, Dad?” Peter asks suddenly, walking right next to Steve instead of hurrying ahead.

He looks worried, never one to miss other people being in distress. Steve is not sure how he managed to create a child that is not just brilliant but so very empathetic too, but he is grateful for Peter every day.

“Of course, Peter,” Steve replies and straightens a little to give his words more weight. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this outing for his son.

“I know you don’t like many people in one place,” Peter says and watches the surrounding crowd while he bites his lip. Then he looks back up at Steve, his expression completely earnest. “We don’t have to stay long.”

Steve winces. He needs to pull himself together. They have not even fully arrived yet and Peter is already offering him a way out. So much for making sure Peter will have a great day.

“We’ll stay as long as you want,” Steve says. When Peter does not appear convinced, he adds, “I’m really fine.”

Nodding, Peter quickens his step again, but makes sure to stay at Steve’s side. “Perhaps Uncle Bucky can come join us later,” he says with audible hope in his voice.

Steve doubts that very much. Even if the problem with the prosthetic can be dealt with quickly, it usually drains Bucky too much to be able to do much of anything after these appointments. Coming to the expo with hundreds of strangers around them is most certainly out of the question.

It would be nice for Peter’s sake, of course. While Steve is willing to listen to everything Peter has to say, never getting bored even if he sometimes does not understand a word, Bucky is better able to keep up.

“Perhaps,” Steve says, unwilling to reject Peter’s hopes outright. “But we’re here for you, so take all the time you need.”

A beaming smile works itself back on Peter’s lips. “There will be a workshop of Stark Industries’ prosthetic division later,” he says in a flurry of words tumbling out of him in excitement. “Maybe they can teach me how Uncle Bucky’s arm works. And when I’m older, I can do the repair work for him so he doesn’t have to go to the lab all the time.”

Steve’s eyes burn as he looks down at his brilliant son, always aware of other people’s needs. Peggy used to tell him this is his influence, but while Steve did not let any chance pass him by to fight bullies, Peter seems to actively search for ways to make people’s lives better at all times.

“He would love that,” Steve says, pride filling his voice. “And you’re undoubtedly smart enough.”

One of Peter’s elementary school teachers had wanted to test Peter’s intelligence level, but they rebuffed all her inquiries. They need no test to tell them that Peter is smart, but giving him a proper childhood and a chance to grow at his own speed is more important than prodding his brain to find out how much he can do exactly.

“But I’ll be too young for them to talk to.” Peter’s shoulders slump a bit when he shrugs, disappointed but unwilling to let it ruin his day for him.

“That’d be stupid of them,” Steve argues immediately. Even if he does not want to go around proclaiming his son a genius to everybody who’s willing to listen, he will not let Peter deny his own brilliance either. “It doesn’t matter how old you are, just what you can do and what you’re willing to learn.”

If anybody tried to give Peter any problems during that workshop, Steve will not hesitate to tell them exactly what he thinks of that. According to reliable sources, Steve can stare at people with so much disappointment that it feels like a punch to the gut. His muscles help too, of course.

“I want to learn.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

* * *

Watching Peter is a constant source of delight. Once he has been given permission, he runs ahead, checking out every booth and every plate with information. He talks to everybody willing to listen, firing questions as quickly as he can get them over his lips.

Steve is content sitting in the background as long as he can keep an eye on Peter from afar and Peter comes checking in with him at regular intervals. 

If a problem arises, Steve is ready to jump up and intervene. Experience shows, however, that people tend to only ever talk to Steve when he hovers at Peter’s side. Since Steve wants Peter to enjoy this day as much as he can, he is happy to stay back.

At one point he signals Peter that he will step out for a moment and gets an absentminded wave in return. The hall is slowly filling up and Steve could use some room to breathe. It is also nearing noon, so he should get something to eat for the both of them. They have sandwiches in their bag, but maybe it is time for a treat.

Steve wanders around for ten minutes tops. Ten minutes should not be enough for Peter to get into trouble. Yet, Steve returns to the hall only to find a man crouching in front of his son. He has his back to Steve and Peter does not apear frightened but more like he is excited to tell someone in great detail about the robot he will build out of Lego pieces and parts of their gutted toaster. Steve’s blood is boiling, anyway. They are quite a few paces away from the next booth and the man is clad in an expensive looking suit. He does not look like he is here for the exhibition. Strange men have no business talking to little boys who are not with their parents.

His heart is beating loudly in his ears as Steve takes long strides to reach his son and then he does not waste any time trying to listen in on what they are talking about.

“What are you doing?” he bellows, his voice automatically dropping to the ordering tone he adopted in the Army.

He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder and pulls him away from Peter, not enough to unbalance him but enough to send a message. Peter is looking at him wide-eyed, but Steve only notices that peripherally as he is concentrating on the stranger.

The man gets up and Steve is struck at the sight. He recognises him instantly. How could he not? This face is plastered all over the walls at the expo. Hell, Peter has a poster of this man up in his room.

This is Tony Stark. Head of Stark Industries. Figurehead of the Stark Expo. One of the smartest – and richest – men on the planet. And he is talking to Peter. And Steve just yelled at him.

Tony Stark, in real life, looks much more vibrant than any picture could ever convey. It might be the way the skin around his eyes wrinkle as he smiles or that, despite being a head smaller than Steve, he has a kind of entrancing aura that is hard to escape. He does not look the slightest bit intimidated by Steve bearing down on him. He is either braver than he looks or simply ignorant. 

“Is this bright young man your son?” Stark asks and stays right where he is, almost too close for comfort. “I must say his ideas for robots put mine to shame.” He smiles and Steve has to admit it could be charming if his thoughts were not running rampant and he would not be fighting the urge to hide Peter behind him.

“Has no one ever told you not to talk to children without their parents present?” Steve all but growls.

Peter is stepping closer to him, reaching for his hand. “Dad,” he says, a plea in his tone.

But Steve does not look at him. “Not now, Peter.” He is busy glaring at Stark who just now begins to seem a bit apologetic. 

“I’m sorry,” Stark says, creasing his forehead. “I didn’t mean to –”

Impatiently, Steve cuts him off. “Well you did.”

He is not usually so rough with other people, but Peter’s safety is more important than anything else. It does not matter that Stark is a celebrity or known for giving a ton of money to charities every year. Steve is already on edge, thanks to the crowd, and every uncertainty regarding Peter puts him in immediate attack mode.

“I could buy you a coffee to apologise,” Stark say, his smile back on his face, even if it is a little probing. His tone holds something playful, almost flirtatious.

The sheer audacity renders Steve speechless for a long moment. Who thinks it is appropriate to ask someone out for coffee after accosting their child? Worse, who flirts with someone who is obviously a parent? In front of their son?

“Are you serious?” Steve asks, watching Stark with growing disgust. Then he takes Peter’s hand, which is still clinging to his jacket. “Peter, we’re done here. We’re leaving.”

One step is enough to realise that Peter has no intention to follow. He stands rooted in place, looking up at Steve with wide eyes, spooked at his sudden roughness. It would not take much to pull Peter after him. Even for his age he is small and scrawny, although his energy levels never suffered from that. Steve is not that kind of father, however. His son is his life, and it does not matter that he wants to leave this place as quickly as possible.

“But I went to talk to him,” Peter argues, moisture gathering in his eyes. He has a sense of right and wrong closely following Steve’s own. Of course, he would want to make sure Steve does not blame Stark for this if it was Peter’s idea to talk to him.

“No, kid. He’s right,” Stark says before Steve can. The immediate gentleness in his expression as he turns to Peter mollifies Steve somewhat. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers. Especially not strangers who promise you to show you their robots at some point.”

There is that smile again, marred with some guilt but nonetheless bright. Steve is not sure why he cannot take his eyes away from it.

“You’re not a stranger,” Peter says, twitching like he wants to underline his point by stomping his foot. He is his mother’s son, though, and Peggy always knew when to hold back.

“Peter.” Steve sighs, exhaustion creeping up in his bones. This is a problem.

Peter’s love for science and learning things tends to make him blind to dangers. The man smiling down from posters and starring in guest lectures is very much a stranger, even if Peter likes to hang on every word he says like it is gospel.

Their family consists of a rather paranoid bunch, always prepared for something to go wrong. How Peter could have turned out this trusting is a mystery, especially since he has already gotten a taste of how cruel life can be.

“He wasn’t going to do anything,” Peter insists, glaring at Steve as if he is the unreasonable one here. “We’re surrounded by people and I knew you’d be back any minute. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with him.”

And who would stop Tony Stark if he decided to take a child somewhere? A child obviously excited and chattering a mile a minute?

“I know. I’m just –” Steve trails off, clenching his free hand at his side. He is never sure how to take care of Peter without smothering him.

Peter tugs at his hand and waits until Steve looks at him. “I’m worried too when you’re not there.”

The back of Steve’s eyes burns, but he pulls his lips up into a smile, wobbly but honest. His son will be a good person one day. He is already taking giant steps in that direction.

Steve blinks several times until he is sure he will not start crying right here and straightens as he looks back at Stark. He almost takes a double-take because Stark’s smile has morphed into something far sadder, almost longing. He does not wipe it away when he notices Steve’s attention on him.

With a solemn nod, he says, “I’m really sorry, Mr. –”

Steve hesitates, long enough to fluster Stark. He is aware of Peter’s pleading eyes, though, so he decides to give Stark the benefit of the doubt. “Steve Rogers. You already know my son, Peter.”

He offers his hand out of habit and is surprised by the strength of Stark’s grip. He never expects much from the suit-wearing types. Especially not the ones Peter practically worships. One of them has to be prepared for the disappointment that inevitably follows.

“Call me Tony,” Stark says as if there is room for familiarity between them. Steve already knows he will ignore it. “How about that coffee? I’d love to hear more about Peter’s ideas.” With a small wink towards Peter, he adds, “Is he too young to offer an internship to?”

“No,” Peter calls, even when Steve throws him a warning glance. “I’m ready.”

Stark’s gall tastes bitter when Steve swallows. At the same time, he cannot help but find his daring intriguing. It reminds him of how Bucky was before they enlisted.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Stark,” Steve answers, deciding to ignore the last thing Stark said. “We haven’t seen everything here yet.”

He is polite mostly for Peter’s sake because he can only imagine the disappointment if he tells Stark no outright.

Peter has learned a thing or two from Natasha, though, and says with practiced innocence, “I’d like to sit down for a bit.”

That seals it. How could Steve deny Peter the chance for a break away from the humdrum of the expo when they both know exactly that he would like to get out of there for a while too?

Stark must recognise the shift in tensions and nods grandly with a smile. “Great, come on. I’ll get you the best coffee this place has to offer.” His expression holds no smugness but looks like he is really just happy Peter could convince Steve.

Steve does not believe it for a second but takes Peter’s hand nonetheless and falls into step with Stark.

They walk to a door in the side wall, labelled _Personnel only_ , which Stark breezes through, leaving them no other choice but to follow. Immediately, it becomes easier for Steve to breathe. The chatter of the crowd behind them cuts off, giving way to the soft echo of their steps on the concrete floor and the faint scent of metal and cleaning supplies in the air. The hallway is narrow but widens soon into a series of open rooms, stacked with supplies. They are alone here, meeting only a few harried looking assistants hurrying through the space.

Their destination is a small employee kitchen, tucked into the side of a bigger room that is holding what looks to be several half-assembled machines and robots. Even Steve feels the urge to ask about them, having to shake the sensation that he stepped into the future here. Stark navigates the place like there is nothing to it, like he spends all of his days surrounded by this kind of tech. Perhaps he does.

The doctors and technicians they met while fitting Bucky for his prosthetic all had the utmost respect for Stark, which is, in Steve’s experience, not always the case with one’s CEO. The Hammer Industries’ employees were mostly practiced at rolling their eyes.

“We’ve got juice, soda or water,” Stark says as he waltzes into the kitchen, filling the entire room with his lively presence, turning what has been an unremarkable, compact space into something bright. “And coffee for you, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve nods absentmindedly as he puts down their things and watches Peter take a seat. Too late he thinks he should offer Stark to use his first name too if only because Stark was so eager to do it himself. He refrains from it, still not so sure they should even be here.

“Apple juice, please,” Peter says and sits down without hesitation. That ease is enviable but also worries Steve.

Much slower, he follows suit and then watches as Stark pushes different buttons on the coffee machine without even looking at it while getting out two cups and a glass with the other hand. That speaks of long practice and familiarity with the machine. Either Stark spent most of the preparation time for the expo in here, drinking coffee, or he made sure the employee kitchen has a decent machine. Steve is not sure what to do with that piece of information.

After serving their drinks, Stark sits down too. For a brief moment, a tense silent engulfs them, sealing their mouths shut with breathless expectation of what will happen next. At least Steve feels that way as his eyes meet Stark’s across the small table.

Then Peter slurps in his haste to drink before he puts down the glass with a sharp clang, excitement making him careless. That breaks the tension as Stark turns towards Peter.

“Have you ever built a robot yourself?” Stark asks, still giving no sign that he has any ulterior motive other than simply talking to Peter.

Peter, in any case, breaks into quick-paced chatter, determined to make the most of this once-in-a-lifetime chance of meeting the Tony Stark.

It turns out that Steve’s input is not actually needed much. Peter looks at him every now and then as if to make sure he is still there, and the brightness of Stark’s smile is nothing compared to the animated way he talks. His eyes are wrinkling with mirth and his hands fly through the air, drawing the shape of things Steve has never heard of. He always waits for Peter to finish a thought before talking himself.

Steve cannot help but be charmed. He almost even regrets the way he laid into Stark earlier. Almost. Peter’s safety still means more than social niceties. But this is a man who knows how to listen, and who apparently does not care that he is talking to a child. Where other people might praise Peter’s intellect and then turn away, intimidated by someone much younger and smarter than them, Stark appears to really enjoy himself. Despite their unfortunate first meeting, Steve is endeared by that.

He lets them talk, listening to them without taking in the specifics. While he keeps an eye on Stark’s demeanour, ready to get Peter and himself out of there at the slightest hint of a change to the worse, he is glad to have time to just breathe. Away from the crowd, from having to follow Peter’s way through the hall, expecting danger from all sides.

Compared to Bucky, Steve integrated himself back into civilian life with ease. That was mostly thanks to Peggy, so it might not be surprising that he is deteriorating without her. 

“You weren’t here yesterday, yes?” Stark asks at some point, obviously including Steve into the question, which snaps Steve back into the present. “Shame, the opening speeches were great, lots of fireworks and new projects.”

Peter’s eyes go wide, then he glances at Steve while biting his lips. “Dad doesn’t like fireworks very much,” he says with audible protectiveness, but Steve also hears the hint of regret at having missed out on something grand. “Or many people in once place.”

“Peter,” Steve says quietly and swallows a sigh. It does not do to announce his weaknesses to the world like that, even though he does not care what Stark thinks of him, of course.

He wishes now he would have let Clint take Peter the day before as was offered, despite his worries that the opening day would be too chaotic, too easily pushed into a disaster.

“I understand,” Stark says, looking at Steve like he truly does, no pity in his eyes, but with a slight grimace as if in remembrance. “Well, then it’s probably good you’ve come today. Although there are still a lot of people here.”

The concern in Stark’s voice is too much. He is a stranger and something like a celebrity. What does he understand of Steve’s problems? Steve keeps his mouth shut, though. He realises he does not always react appropriately when it comes to sore subjects.

“He promised to tell me when he needs to leave.” Leaning forward, Peter adds in a conspiratorial whisper, “I don’t think he will, though. Because I’ve wanted to come here forever.”

Peter knows too much. Perhaps that is due to growing up with loss clinging to them, or because he is smarter than his peers. Steve would not change his son for the world, but he aches for him nonetheless, for that innocence he is already lacking.

“Then it’s my lucky day,” Stark says with an earnestness that Steve cannot find a fault with, no matter how hard he is looking.

Peter giggles and then they are off on another tangent that Steve follows only superficially because he is busy watching Stark’s face. As far as Steve can tell, he does not just pretend his interest in what Peter has to tell. His face lights up while talking and it is easy to see ideas forming behind his eyes even while he listens to everything Peter has to say.

Steve does not trust it one bit. As head of Stark Industries’ R&D department, Stark must be surrounded by brilliant people all day, people he can talk about actual science with instead of listening to the excited rambling of a child. This is no doubt a dream come true for Peter, but Steve cannot help but wait for the other shoe to drop.

“I could give you a tour of our research labs at some point,” Stark says, much to Steve’s chagrin. It will be impossible to get that wish out of Peter’s head again. “We’re always glad to have some bright minds over.”

With all this talk about robots and science, and meeting one of his heroes, it should be impossible for Peter to become even more excited. But there he is, his spine shooting straight and he whirls his head around to Steve, eyes gleaming with sudden _want_.

“Can we, Dad?” he asks, almost breathless as if he is imagining running towards Stark Tower this very moment. “That would be the greatest thing _ever_.”

Steve knows he has to refuse. If he were to agree and then this never happens, because Stark is obviously just being nice and will forget about them the moment they step out of the door, Peter would be crushed.

“I’m not sure,” Steve says and immediately cursing himself for being unable to break his son’s heart. It should not be so hard to say no. “I’d have to see whether it fits in my schedule.”

Stark’s expression changes minutely. If Steve had not been looking at him, he would have missed it. For just a moment, his smile turns strained and his eyes stray to something only he can see. Just a second later, he is back in the present like nothing happened, his smile bright again.

“The offer stands,” Stark says, voice full of cheer that sounds genuine despite the momentary lapse in composure.

This is the time to go, Steve realises, as long as Stark is still interested instead of throwing glances at the clock and decides they have overstayed their welcome. As long as this is still a pleasant experience for everyone.

“Thank you for the coffee,” Steve says as he gets to his feet, managing a companionable tone despite his doubts of Stark’s motives.

To his surprise, Peter does not protest. Then again, Peter already knows that nothing lasts forever. He might be disappointed that his time with Stark is coming to an end already, but he has learned to be happy with what he gets. It hurts that his son has had to learn that lesson already. Losing his mother does that to a child.

“I have to thank you for the stimulating conversation,” Stark says with a flourish as he gets up too and offers his hand to Peter, who takes it with all the unbridled enthusiasm of a child performing an inherently adult ritual.

Making a split-second decision, Steve turns towards his son, and says, “Why don’t you run ahead, Peter. I’ll be right behind you.”

He sees Peter’s hesitation, sees that Peter knows exactly that this is code for _I want to talk without you listening in_. Still, he does not protest but walks off with a wave and a last, brilliant smile.

Stark knows too what is going on. They are watching Peter vanish down the hall before Steve nods at the way and starts walking slowly. He notices that Stark’s expression has become more cautious and takes that as validation for taking him aside.

“Why are you doing this?” Steve asks, diving right in. He does not believe in subterfuge.

It might be because Steve is looking for a negative reaction, but he sees Stark’s shoulders stiffening and sees it as an admission of guilt.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” Stark says, no bite in his tone. His gaze is sharp, however, when he directs it at Steve. “Why do I organise such a big expo and then don’t make my company the main contributor? Why am I spending time backstage instead of flashing my smile on a stage somewhere? Why –”

“Why did you take the time to come back here with us?” Steve interrupts. He has neither the patience nor the temperament for these games. “You must have more pressing things to do than to talk science on an elementary school level.”

Stark leans slightly away from him, almost offended. Then he realises what he is doing and smooths his expression into something neutral but cool. Considering how freely he has given his smiles up to this point, Steve feels a strange loss.

“First off, your son is way beyond elementary school,” Stark says curtly, leaving no doubt that he means it. “I’m not saying you should make him skip grades because look how that turned out for me, but he would definitely do well with some extracurricular classes.”

That sounded almost self-deprecating, Steve notices that even over the glow of hearing his son complimented. He is a simple man and his family is the most important thing in the world for him. Yet, it immediately rankles him to hear Stark talk about himself like that, if only in hints.

“And why I’m here instead of getting sore wrists from shaking hands with all those important people out there? This,” Stark continues and gestures at their surroundings, the robot parts and the expo beyond. “This is my day job. Organising projects and talking to people who are more than convinced of their own genius. The science always comes in second place.” He pauses, his eyes dark and earnest on Steve. “Children are different. They are still excited to learn new things, to learn the way of the world. It is nice to talk to someone who still cares about the things I love.”

He sounds honest. If the public estimation of Stark’s genius is correct, he might remember what it was like as a child to always be talked down to by adults, even when he probably knew more than them.

Steve finds he wants to believe Stark. Yet, he crosses his arms in front of him. “That sounds like a nonsense sob story.”

He regrets his words the moment he watches Stark withdraw. Even without the smile, Stark had been open with Steve, engaged in a way that disappears immediately as his expression shutters closed. Suddenly, the skin of Stark’s face seems too tight as it becomes a mask of polite disinterest. It feels like an acute loss.

“Then you’ve never sat through a budgeting meeting where people tell you we can’t make certain improvements to, say, our prosthetic line because that would cost too much money,” Stark says coolly, then clicks his tongue in impatient disappointment. “Helping others has become as much of a profit-seeking business as anything else.”

The air between them is now tense and awkward. Steve stands by his decision to question Stark’s motives but is thoroughly uncomfortable with the result. Compared to the person standing before him now, it seems ridiculous that he thought Stark’s interactions with Peter were not honest.

“Thank you for sitting down with Peter,” Steve says, knowing he cannot salvage the situation but wanting to offer an olive branch, anyway. He does not like being cruel, but it feels like he crushed Stark.

“It was my pleasure,” Stark answers. “And do think about having that tour.”

Steve will not, but he does not say that. Stark appears to be genuine, but that does not mean Steve will abandon all sense. Nothing good can come of nursing Peter’s hopes only to have Stark forget about them the moment they walk out of that door.

He is surprised when Stark offers his hand again but takes it nonetheless. As he walks out, he decides to take this as a good thing, a positive experience for Peter.

By the time the door falls shut behind him, he is convinced he will never see Tony Stark again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind words and your patience. Work is killing me, and I've got another weekend shift next week. But I hope I'll get the next chapter up in time.

Steve Rogers is hot. Tony usually does not like being forced to look up to people, but this is a sight worth straining his neck for. The shoulder line alone has him wanting to swoon. At least it did in the brief time between Rogers accusing him of planning to kidnap his son and then doubting his motives right now. Even so, the sheer protectiveness has the memory of his childhood self cry out in sudden need.

Tony’s eyes linger on Rogers’ ass as he walks away before he pulls himself together. Just now he protested that he did not have any hidden agenda by inviting them back here, and now he cannot keep his eyes to himself. Rogers has a child and probably a beautiful wife to match. He is way out of line. 

Then Rogers disappears through the staff door back into the exposition hall and Tony is saved from the dilemma of whether to look at him or not. He appreciates beauty when he sees it. Contrary to what the press likes to say about him, he is capable of talking to people without wanting to get them into his bed or draw their money out of their pockets. 

Tony turns back towards the kitchen, desperate for another cup of coffee before he throws himself back into the crowds. Perhaps he also wants to give Rogers a chance to peruse the exposition without having to look over his shoulder. Mostly, he needs caffeine.

The kid really is smart, especially considering how young he is. He reminds Tony of himself, and he is glad to see that Peter’s father apparently takes more interest in his son’s happiness and protection than Howard ever did with Tony’s, even if that has put him directly at odds with the man. Peter’s mother certainly is a lucky woman.

Tony remembers being Peter’s age and constantly having a hundred questions running through his mind. Back then, nobody but Jarvis attempted to answer them, so Tony always felt like the secrets of the universe were escaping him despite them dangling basically in front of his face.

It is a shame that children are only expected to grow up instead of being nurtured. As Tony stares down at his coffee, a thought comes to his mind. Without pause, he reaches for his phone and calls Pepper, who is not only his personal assistant but also the guardian of his sanity and occasional chaperone. In short, every plan he makes has to go through her first, both to keep him from causing a disaster for himself, and to make sure it works.

“Please tell me you haven’t burned down the expo building,” Pepper says by way of greeting, a smile audible in her voice.

If she thinks that they are safe because Tony has not been here for long enough to cause real chaos, she is delusionary. Normally, she knows better, too.

“Everything’s fine,” Tony assures her as he taps his fingers against the table. “Pep, I have a stupid idea. Well, the idea is brilliant, but you will tell me it is stupid.”

Most great plans begin like that. He is also known for doing whatever he wants, but Pepper is slowly training that out of him. It is not pleasant for anyone involved to disappoint her.

“What did you do now?” she asks, immediately turning sombre.

“Nothing. Yet,” Tony says, rolling his eyes, safe in the knowledge that she cannot see him. Although she usually knows anyway. “But I’ve met someone today and –”

“Please tell me you didn’t let anyone take your picture in compromising positions,” Pepper interrupts him, voice flat as she no doubt imagines how much paperwork is coming her way. “We need this expo to not become a PR disaster.”

The lack of confidence his friends have in him is frankly appalling, Tony thinks, even while he can admit that her worries are not unwarranted. He tends to go overboard with just about everything.

“I did nothing of the sort,” Tony says, his mouth turned down. “But I met a kid. Really smart. Could even be my level smart.”

He does not believe in testing children’s intelligence. It did not do him any good and just heaps expectations on too impressionable people. Peter is smart, and his father seems to indulge him in gathering new knowledge without capitalising it. Not once has he made a comment of what Peter was saying, never tried to steer their conversation. That is a big plus in Tony’s book.

“You don’t have him stashed away in your cupboard somewhere, yes?” Pepper asks, the smile back in her voice.

Why does everybody think he wants to secretly steal a child? Pepper knows about his childhood, and his fears to not make the same mistakes as his parents. Not in much detail, but enough to keep her from jumping to conclusions.

“No, his dad was very protective. Accused me of all sorts of things already, so you can save your breath.” A shiver runs down Tony’s back as he remembers the sheer fury in Rogers’ eyes as he found Tony with his son – and the unconcealed fear too. “But that’s tying in directly with my idea.”

Which has, at least, more to do with Peter’s curiosity than the fact that his father is rather hot. Even though both are excellent reasons to take action.

“Please tell me you don’t want to adopt a child,” Pepper says after a long pause. Long enough to make Tony think she is either having a nervous breakdown at the other end or is already organising a strike team to take him down.

Tony’s face goes slack as he stares at the wall in front of him, wondering whether he has misheard. He waits for Pepper to laugh – but she does not. In what world could she possibly think he would suddenly decide to be a father. She knows him. Of all the crazy ideas he has ever had, acquiring a child has never been among them.

He takes a big gulp of coffee, relishing the heat, then says in a flat tone. “I was thinking about a program to support children, to engage them more with science. I know that school almost beat the interest out of _me_ and I’ve never really considered doing anything else but build things.”

A brief silence falls, in which Tony imagines Pepper being embarrassed of her assumption. It helps to soothe his racing thoughts. It is a constant war inside his mind, that need to prove his roots wrong, to show that he can do better than his parents in every way, and the wish to just curl up and pretend he has nothing to do with the people who raised him. Well, the people who put him in this world and let others raise him, only chiming in when he did something wrong.

“We’re a company,” Pepper then cautions. “Not part of the education system.” She does not sound upset.

Sadly, that does not mean she appreciates his idea. More likely is that she is just glad that he has not come up with something worse – like start an entire product line overnight just to spite Justin Hammer and show him how it is really done. At least the drone project was a roaring success.

“And I’m not saying we should build a school of our own,” Tony argues as if he has already thought extensively about this instead of calling Pepper immediately. “Just, we have our internship program, we’re already in the business of promoting interested youths. I’m thinking of going a bit younger.”

Tony is waiting for Pepper to shoot this down right now. She hesitates, however. While being a lot of work, this could also prove to be a golden opportunity to make some good press. Despite pretending to not be interest in that, Tony knows how the game works.

“How old was that kid today?” Pepper asks, reluctant, as if she does not know why she is indulging Tony’s madness.

“Young,” Tony replies, wondering how he is supposed to estimate Peter’s age. He was smart and kind, that is all he really noticed. “Elementary school. But he was brilliant, and still very much interested in learning new things.”

Pepper exhales audibly, not quite a sigh but on its way there. “This is a terrible idea.”

That is when Tony knows he has won. Or they have at least entered the negotiating phase. Otherwise, she would have already shot this entire thing down. 

“You can say stupid. That’s why I used it first,” Tony comments cheekily, suddenly elated. It is so much more satisfying to talk with people who still see science as something fascinating instead of something to make profit off.

“We have dozens of other things to do,” Pepper says, but that is only a token protest. He has her and they are both aware of it. “That new contract with Japan, and the defence contract with the military we need to review. And the new StarkPad.”

Tony grimaces at the list. He will have to show up to several of those meetings and is already tired of it.

“I know, Pep,” he says, quiet but firm. The way he sees it, it is smart to start a project he is actually looking forward to. He might even volunteer to do some grunt work.

“But you’re not going to let that stop you,” Pepper says, her tone fond more than long-suffering. They have come to know each other pretty well over the past years. Tony has a lot of mad ideas, but she can tell when he is passionate about something.

“I’m asking you to stop me if you think it’ll turn out bad.”

That has always been their system. Tony bounds ahead, dreaming of the future, while Pepper holds him back, keeping an eye on reality. It has served them well.

“I won’t work over-hours for this,” Pepper warns, although she will. The company is as much her home as the workshop is for Tony. “But you’ll pass all plans by me.”

Tony smiles, wondering for the thousandth time how he managed to keep Pepper by his side. “I wouldn’t dream of doing this any other way.”

“You’re a menace.” She is smiling, Tony can tell that without seeing her. If they were in the same room, she might fight it, but not like this.

“Love you too, Pep.”

After the call disconnects, Tony looks down at his empty cup, wondering whether he can allow himself another one. This is his expo, though. He should be seen.

The thought of running into Peter and his dad again has him hesitating. If he is actually pulling this plan off, Rogers will have something to say about that – because Tony will want Peter there.

He has nothing nefarious in mind, though. This is an excellent idea and he will make sure it will become reality. Still, it might be better to avoid meeting them again for now. Tony knows himself, he will blurt something out, hoping to make a good impression, and will achieve the exact opposite.

There must be other interesting people at this expo. It is just a matter of finding them, so he can take his mind off Rogers’ impressive shoulder-to-waist ratio.

Shaking his head, Tony gets back to making his rounds. He is constantly being followed by a throng of excited people and reporters hoping to catch marketable pictures, but it is worth enduring that to enjoy the scientific excitement hanging in the air. Not everybody is here just to catch a glimpse of the glittering future. Some people want to understand how that future works or have their own ideas. Tony loves finding them. That is what makes the public side of his job worthwhile.

* * *

When they come home, Bucky is waiting for them, lying on the couch. He is pale but smiles when Peter runs immediately towards him, almost vibrating with excitement to share the stories of this day.

“Petey,” Bucky calls and straightens just in time to catch Peter in his arms. “How was it?”

Steve notices that Bucky does not seem to have any qualms about using his prosthetic the way he sometimes does after appointments. It curls around Peter with unhurried gentleness as if it always belonged to Bucky’s body. Steve exhales with relief at the sight. If not for Bucky’s promises that he would be all right and Peter’s excitement about the exposition, Steve would have never let Bucky go to the lab alone.

“You missed so much, Uncle Buck,” Peter says and, snuggling deeper into the embrace, falls into a rambling recollection of their day. “We got to meet Tony Stark and he told me everything about his lab robot. It’s called DUM-E and it likes to douse him with the fire extinguisher.”

Steve puts down their bag next to the door, listening to Peter with a small smile. All his reservations about this day pale in the face of Peter’s happiness.

“That sounds – like a lot,” Bucky says, a question hiding beneath the words as he looks up at Steve.

The weight on Steve’s shoulders immediately lessens a bit. He is not alone in this. It might feel that way more often than not, but he has friends who will not let him take on life on his own. They are a family in the truest sense.

He nods at Bucky in reassurance but says nothing. They will have time for that later, without dampening Peter’s happiness.

“Today was the best day ever,” Peter gushes and he draws back and settles onto the couch. And that, really, makes everything okay. The slow panic still simmering inside Steve’s bones, the roaring protectiveness, the ever-constant fear. Peter is happy. Steve needs nothing more. “And he said he’d show me his lab sometime.”

It obviously was too much to hope that Peter would have forgotten about that already.

“His lab?” Bucky repeats with just the right amount of incredulity. “Are you sure you met the real deal and not some clever Life Model Decoy?”

That scepticism is to be expected. Today’s behaviour does not really fit in with the image they have of Tony Stark, billionaire, playboy, and genius. It was nothing like the brilliant persona on tv, trading barbs with reporters or promising a golden future – or stumbling home drunk with constantly changing men or women on his arm. To be fair, Stark’s exploits seem to have become fewer in numbers, especially since he completely changed his company’s portfolio.

“Don’t be silly.” Peter laughs, still giddy with having met one of his heroes, never having had to look critically at Stark. He is just the guy who builds cool things and is responsible for his uncle having a new arm. “Dad almost hit him, but then he took us to get snacks and we got to talk for ages.”

“I missed a lot, it seems,” Bucky says, half a question, but Steve shakes his head to indicate that they will talk later.

Peter, who has not noticed their exchange, snuggles deeper into the cushions and smiles up at Bucky. “It was so cool.”

Steve leaves them to it and makes his way into the kitchen. They had nothing to eat but sandwiches and sweets this day and he takes care that Peter regularly gets warm meals. The quiet of the kitchen embraces him, easing the tension out of his shoulders. It is ridiculous, how much simply being amongst strangers takes out of him. It is manageable, yes, but it leaves him tired beyond measure. If not for Peter’s presence, too, Steve is not so sure he would not have given into the panic.

They are home now, though. They are safe and Peter is happy. Steve could not wish for anything else.

* * *

Not long after Peter has gone to bed that night, Bucky’s face turns sly in that way that tells Steve he will not like what is coming next. Having his best friend close is a blessing most days. It also means there is no hiding from anything.

“Tony Stark, huh?” Bucky says, a grin tugging at his lips as he leans forward, looking ready to receive the juicy details of whatever he believes happened this day.

Steve presses his lips into a thin line, half-tempted to just change the topic immediately.

“I don’t know what you think you’re insinuating,” he says sharply, familiar with the way Bucky’s brain works. “But I found him talking to my son, reacted appropriately, and then couldn’t say no to Peter’s pleading.”

Bucky nods as if that answer proves his point. “You always went for people that are way out of your league,” he says, laughter lurking beneath the words.

Sometimes, Steve wonders what is going on in Bucky’s head, how it is permanently fixed on other people’s business.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks but regrets it immediately afterwards. He should not encourage Bucky’s wild ideas.

Shrugging, Bucky sprawls on the couch, legs wide open, one arm thrown over the back. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says in a tone that means he definitely _wants_ this to be taken the wrong way. “Peter is great, but I doubt Stark would have invited just anyone for coffee. Your muscles are a real selling point.”

Unable to stop himself, Steve looks down at his chest and arms, then quickly snaps up his head to glare at Bucky.

“That’s nonsense,” he hisses. A lot of things happened at the expo, but Stark did not invite him into the backroom because Steve is somewhat good-looking. That is just not done. “It wasn’t like this. He barely looked at me.”

More so, he had no right to look. After accosting Peter and being, at first, completely unrepentant, it would have been the height of impoliteness to take them for coffee just to ogle Steve.

“Whatever you say,” Bucky sing-songs, looking unconvinced.  
Steve nods sharply and considers the topic done. Only it is not. As if Bucky’s words kicked something loose inside his brain, he now he has to think about the way Stark’s smile lit up his entire face and how he sneaked glances at Steve during his animated conversation with Peter. He thought that was just to check in with him whether this was still okay, whether he was not crossing any more boundaries. And that _is_ what happened. Even if Steve wanted to be looked at, it certainly would not be by Stark.

Bucky remains silent, just watching him with expectation in his gleaming eyes.

“It’s not like I’d be interested in that,” Steve says firmly when the silence becomes too much. He is not sure why he feels the need to defend himself. “Peter had fun. That’s what matters.”

That, at least, is the irrevocable truth. They have already lost so much, experienced a grief that no child should be touched by, that Steve’s first goal in life is to make his son happy. His friends know that too.

Despite Steve’s hope, Bucky does not look the least bit discouraged. Instead, his grin grows wider, almost lascivious.

“Well, if you do land in bed together, ask him about that new prosthetic line,” he says, going so far as to wink. “If they need volunteers –”

Without warning, Steve’s ears fill with a rushing sensation, drowning out Bucky’s words. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps, straightening as if readying himself for an attack.

Steve’s entire body reacts in protest to Bucky’s insinuation. His throat constricts, making it hard to swallow, even while heat shoots up in his face, carried by his galloping heartbeat.

This is not what happened today. He found Stark talking to his son and after that first clash, they simply shared a cup of coffee in a completely civilised manner. No flirting, no ulterior motive, definitely no interest in each other.

“Steve,” Bucky says, barely penetrating Steve’s racing thoughts.

“No.” Steve will not listen to this. “I don’t care whether you and Clint flirt with everything that moves, but I’m not like that.”

When they were young, Steve suffered Bucky’s constant need for conquests with a smile and the occasional encouragement. Things have changed since then, though. He is a father now and has more important roles than to play his best friend’s wingman.

He is so caught up in his own denial that, when he looks up and sees the stricken look on Bucky’s face, he is actually taken aback. All amusement has drained out of the air between them, and no hint of a smile is left in Bucky’s demeanour.

“Peggy is dead, Steve,” Bucky says, his voice that painfully calm thing that is impossible to ignore but hurts with an acute sharpness.

Immediately, he thinks back to that last text message he ever got from his wife, that promise for a _later_ that never came. It took him far too long to connect the news of the plane crash with Peggy’s flight, although deep down he had known something bad had happened even before Bucky arrived deathly pale at their apartment, Sam and Clint in tow, all of them already struck by grief.

That day is still sitting in his bones. Peggy’s last words still swim before his eyes every time he goes to sleep.

“Thanks for the reminder,” Steve says tonelessly, no strength left to yell. “I can’t believe I forgot about my wife dying.”

He wants to get up, wants to hide himself away in his bedroom and pull the blanket over his head until he feels vaguely human again. His legs are too heavy, though, unable to move. So he stays where he is, leaning away from his best friend, hands clenched.

Three little words and his entire world comes crashing down again and again. Two years now and the grief still sits at the forefront of his mind, ready to wash over him at a moment’s notice.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Bucky says, his voice a curious mixture of apology and stubborn insistence.

He has been there, right at Steve’s side, through the worst of it, has helped Steve to keep his life on track. But his emotions are impossible to deal with.

“No, I don’t.” Anger is always easier than dealing with the pain. Steve leans forward, hands aching from being curled into fists. “Indulge me. Did you mean that I should throw myself at the first person who smiles at me? Or did you mean I should whore myself out so you can get a better arm?”

Bucky flinches as if struck, but Steve does not feel bad about his words, does not want to take them back.

“That’s not fair,” Bucky mutters, letting his eyes drop. His prosthetic is curled protectively around his abdomen.

“Just like presuming I go on an outing with my son and keep lusting after strangers is not fair either,” Steve says, unwilling to give in. It is better to bury this unfortunate topic right now, lest Bucky brings it up again.

“It’s all right to look at other people,” Bucky says, one last attempt to make Steve see his point, although he seems to know how futile it is.

And Steve, suddenly exhausted, just says, “Not for me.”

Conversation dies down after that. Bucky tries to lighten the mood but gives up when Steve keeps answering only in a begrudging monotone. They will be all right, he knows, but he cannot give in to Bucky’s every whim anymore. He has a son to think of.

Later, when Bucky is gone and Steve lies in his bed, his thoughts invariably stray back to this afternoon. To how charming Stark’s smile was, how much more alive he seemed than when on camera. To how much Steve enjoyed himself just watching Stark talk with Peter.

All of that is nonsense. He is not looking for someone. More than that, Tony Stark is a man, no matter how intriguing he seems. Steve has a son to think of and a dead wife he still carries in his heart.

That is all there is to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the entire weekend off next week! Whatever will I do with so much free time?
> 
> Anway, enjoy the chapter.

The invitation comes by mail. A letter from Peter’s school accompanies it, but the sheer difference in quality of the paper and design makes it clear that this is not the school’s doing.

The idea is very simple. Stark Industries’ goal is to secure their future, even more so since Stark shut down the weapons manufacturing and turned the company around to explore greener pastures. Children, of course, are part of that future, so the company plans to offer different workshops for children of all ages. And Peter’s school has miraculously been picked for a test run.

Underneath the letter is not Stark’s signature, but Steve is not naïve enough to think this has nothing to do with them. Perhaps the offer is genuine, but perhaps Stark is just trying to prove a point after being accused of accosting Peter at the expo.

Before Steve could decide whether to just throw the letter away, Peter found him, almost exploding with excitement. And that, really, left only one choice: to sign Peter up for the workshop.

Peter truly is the only reason Steve is here now, holding on to his son’s hand more than the other way around as they are ushered through the foyer of Stark’s tower along with dozens of other parents and their children.

Anticipation hangs in the air that translates directly to nausea roiling inside Steve’s stomach. He does not even know why he is so nervous. The crowd is not nearly as bad as during the Stark expo and made up mostly of children. Peter is happy, bouncing alongside Steve while constantly turning his head to not miss a single thing.

Stark will probably not even be here. He must have more important things to do than lead a workshop for elementary school kids. Not that Steve would care. Stark is nothing to him, and certainly no reason to feel caged.

They step into what looks like a giant conference room with moveable walls that are all opened. Tables are placed in a series of rectangles with different sets of equipment and one or two employees per setting.

A small stage takes up the front of the room and, right beside it with a gorgeous red-headed woman, stands Tony Stark. He looks just like Steve remembers, smiling and filling the space with natural confidence.

Steve stops cold as he stares, attracting Peter’s attention only when he tugs at Steve’s hand and they do not keep moving. He looks up at Steve with confusion before realisation dawns when he follows Steve’s gaze.

“Oh, look,” Peter calls. If possible, he becomes even more excited. “There’s Mr. Stark.”

Just great, Steve thinks, but there is no more bowing out now. He does not have any reason, either. Just because Bucky was talking nonsense about what their first meeting could have meant does not make any of it true.

It all feels too much to be a coincidence, however, and Steve cannot help but feel he is being played somehow.

Thanks to Peter’s insistent tugging, they start walking again. People are settling at the different groups of tables. One of them is labelled _Dinosaurs_ , another _Astronomy_. Steve lets Peter lead them to where he wants to go until they end up at the _Chemistry_ tables.

“Maybe there’s also a prosthetics group,” Peter says, craning his neck to look around. He stays where he is, though, maybe fearing he will not get a seat at all if he leaves again.

Steve just nods absentmindedly, still glancing every now and then at Stark. He is unsettled and not quite sure why or what to do against it. With sudden determination, he gets back to his feet.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Peter. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“You can ask Mr. Stark if you’re going over,” Peter replies, smiling with an innocence that hits Steve all the more because it does not fit the insinuation he hears in Peter’s words. Which is not there because Peter is eight-years-old and obsessed with robots. Nothing else.

“What?” Steve asks nonetheless, certain he has missed something important here.

“Whether they will explain the prosthetics to us.” Peter looks at him, mouth down-turned with growing worry.

Steve does not want to ruin this day for his son just because of his own stupid reservations, so he dons a smile and nods.

On his way over to where Stark is standing, he watches as the red-headed woman takes her leave, and grows only more restless when Stark turns and, upon seeing him, smiles brightly. Such a reaction is not warranted. They have met each other once, weeks ago, and parted on less than good terms. Worse, this seems to be proof that Stark does not have forgotten about Steve.

“You came,” Stark says by way of greeting as soon as Steve is within earshot. His smile, if possible, grows wider, almost like he is complimenting himself – or like he is pleased, but Steve does not want to contemplate that.

That greeting cements his belief that their invitation was not, in fact, a coincidence. Which, in turn, has the nausea changing into pure irritation.

“Don’t you think it’s rather rude and stalkerish to send us an invitation to this out of the blue?” Steve asks, just barely remembering to lower his voice as to not attract attention. He might want answers, but he still does not want to ruin Peter’s day by making a scene. “Since when are you doing these things for kids, anyway? Or take care of them personally?”

He is just short of accusing Stark of having instated this workshop just to get Peter and him here, although he is not sure to what end, does not want to find out either. Even as he says it, he realises he is out of line.

Why would Tony Stark show any interest in them? Assuming that he does just means giving weight to Bucky’s ridiculous claims. And Bucky does not know what he is talking about.

Before Steve can decide whether to take his words back, he watches as Stark’s expression falls and is quickly replaced by something smooth and impersonal. His lips are still pulled up into a smile, but it is strained, fake.

“Are you trying to ask whether I orchestrated all this just to lure you and Peter here?” Stark asks, sounding incredulous and, impossibly, hurt. It has shame shooting through Steve, even though a nagging voice in the back of his head keeps telling him to stick to his words. “Peter is smart,” Stark continues, sounding somewhat stiff. “And school has a habit of beating that out of children. I’m just trying to keep the thrill of wanting to change things alive for a little while longer.”

The worst thing is, that sounds reasonable. Steve can imagine that Stark was wandering the expo, had an interesting conversation with Peter and was reminded of how curious he was himself as a child. Stark Industries and Stark himself do a lot for charity, assisting a variety of different causes. Bucky could have never afforded his prosthetic if not for their veteran program.

Perhaps Steve was wrong to storm over here and accuse Stark of things nobody but him thought were happening. Indecision has him hesitating too long to get an answer in before Stark’s shoulders draw up.

“Also, you didn’t have to come if you are doubting my motives,” he says, sounding hurt of all things.

It does not fit with the picture Stark usually projects. The brilliant but flippant head of Stark Industries, the charismatic genius, the unrepentant wildcard. He appears impossibly human for someone Steve directed his undeserved anger at. 

“I couldn’t have kept Peter away once he found out what this was about,” Steve says with a sigh, noticing too late that this sounds like another accusation.

Before him, Stark huffs, likely losing his patience with Steve. “Then you could have sent his mother. Or not sought me out if I’m so unpleasant to deal with.”

Shame rises in Steve’s chest. Here he is, heaping abuse on another man just because Steve’s own thoughts are mangled and messed up. Stark might be rash and over-confident, but he has not actually slighted Steve. It is just that he cannot get Bucky’s words out of his head, circling back to them, trying to disprove them in continually new - and worse - ways.

“That’s not – I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I’m very protective of Peter. It’s just the two of us, so – I tend to overreact.”

That is not an excuse, and yet Stark’s face brightens again, looking at him with renewed interest.

“No problem,” he says, not quite as carefree as before. “And I told you to call me Tony.” With a clap of his hands, he does not give Steve an opportunity to answer but turns towards the stage. “Now, let’s get this show started.”

As if nothing happened between them at all, Stark gets his head back in the game. By the time Steve has reached his seat and dodged Peter’s questioning glance, Stark is smiling down at the bright faces before him and welcomes them all.

Steve follows the introductory speech only superficially. He gets the basics. They will rotate through the different stations so that everybody has a chance to learn a bit of everything. It is imperative to listen to the Stark Industries’ employees to guarantee everybody’s safety. The most important thing is that they will all have fun.

Despite not listening to every single word, Steve decides that it is an excellent speech. Stark is really here with them. This is not just another duty or PR stunt. Or if it is, he gives it his all, anyway.

Before Steve knows what is happening, the people around him break into applause and start talking excitedly amongst each other, falling into motions as one.

* * *

It is fascinating to watch Stark. He came here wearing a suit but lost the jacket and tie minutes after stepping off the small stage. As soon as he is walking amongst the crowd of excited children, he seems to become a different person. His smiles are brighter, more genuine, his gesturing encompasses the entire room.

When he laughs, the sound filtering clearly over the multitude of other voices, Steve’s heart aches. Such a free sound, bright and honest. Steve wonders when he made someone laugh like that the last time.

A longing rises inside him that he pushes down mercilessly as soon as he recognises it for what it is. This is Bucky’s doing, putting ideas in Steve’s head that are as ridiculous as they are impossible to shake. They are not unhappy. They laugh a lot. Peter and Steve as much as when the entire group comes together.

Steve is here to chaperone Peter, not to ogle Stark. It is not his place to notice that Stark’s muscles ripple underneath his shirt or that he looks so much more alive here than during interviews or speeches. Nothing has changed. Steve is as uninterested in Stark as he was before his conversation with Bucky. That indifference has just become harder to cling to.

“You should ask him out,” Peter says next to him, ripping Steve out of his thoughts back to the present.

Peter is holding a vial with something bubbling in his gloved hand but does not pay any attention to it while he looks up at Steve from behind the giant safety glasses that make his eyes appear even bigger.

“What did you say?” Steve asks, even though he has the distinct feeling that he is better off not knowing. Everybody seems to push him in a direction that he does not want to go.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter answers as if there is nothing to it. “He’s super smart, and he looks at you too.”

“What?” Steve’s heart misses a beat as his head snaps up and he tries to catch Stark in the act. _If_ what Peter says is even true. He cannot imagine it is.

“Are you waiting for him to ask you out?” Peter adds, still in that innocent tone. Layered over that, Steve can see Bucky’s mischievous grin and the exact intonation he would have given that question.

“Nobody is asking anyone out,” Steve says firmly, eager to put an end to this conversation. He will need to talk to Bucky because nobody else would put such nonsense into his son’s head. “Better keep that vial steady.”

The day is a success. Peter basically glows with happiness and does not show any sign of tiredness throughout the multitude of experiments and explanations. He keeps asking questions, and each of the employees answers them with unwavering patience.

The only thing that puts a damper on their day is that Stark stays firmly away from them, avoiding the stations they are at while easily charming the rest of the room. To his own irritation, Steve is disappointed by that. Personal feelings or not, Stark knows what he is doing, and it is a joy hearing him talk about something he loves. Worse than that, of course, is watching the dejection on Peter’s face.

“What did you say to him?” Peter asks during the afternoon when things start to die down. “Why isn’t he coming here at all?”

He is visibly upset, face tight and lips wobbling, looking up at Steve as if he still believes his dad can make the world turn and stop. In this case, that might even be true, although Steve does not want to admit that.

“He’s busy, Peter,” Steve replies, fighting the urge to search for where Stark is at the moment. “There are a lot of other people here.”

Not enough to explain why Stark would coincidentally always miss exactly the table they are sitting at while making his faithful rounds through the room. Peter knows that as well as Steve.

“He waved at me, so he remembers me,” Peter insists, staring balefully down at his drawing of a cell that he had made with such enthusiasm only minutes ago. “If you hadn’t gone to him –”

“Peter,” Steve warns, cutting him off. He is usually rather lenient with Peter, mostly because Peter is such a good kid, always attentive and striving to be kind. Tony Stark, of all people, will not drive a wedge between them, however temporary.

“He’s nice,” Peter insists, still not looking up. “And he did nothing wrong.”

Steve does not want to keep telling Peter that he is afraid for him. Parents should be invincible, at least for a little while. That idea has already been shattered once for Peter, and they were both a mess for some time after Peggy died, but Steve cannot remain to be so. He has a duty to keep his son safe, but that means he needs to hold back his own ghosts too.

He is glad when they are interrupted by the gong telling them that it is time for another change of tables. Peter’s words do not leave him alone, however. He noticed too that Stark’s rounds should have brought him to their stations several times but that he skirted them every time.

It is surprisingly considerate to give them space after Steve all but asked for it. It also leaves him with a heavy lump of guilt in his stomach. He keeps sniping at Stark where it might not be warranted.

“Would you pack up our things?” Steve asks later, when it is time to go. “I’ll have a quick word with Mr. Stark.”

“Are you going to apologise?” Peter’s eyes are wide and, as Steve supposes, hopeful.

Steve nods and answers Peter’s smile out of habit, even as he is wondering whether he is making another mistake.

The crowd of people slowly getting to their feet and putting on their jackets helps to mask what Steve is doing, blocking his direct path so that he needs to skirt around people, making his approach less obvious.

Still, Stark notices him when he is still several feet away. For a moment, it looks like he will turn away, likely thinking Steve has another complaint, another awful thing to accuse him of.

As he walks over, Steve half-raises one hand before him in a calming gesture. It works – or Stark is too curious for his own good – and Stark waits for him to come close. He does not even speak but waits for Steve to say what he wants first, which Steve assumes does not happen very often.

Steve feels acutely like a schoolboy being summoned by the headmaster. Contrary to back then, he has actually learned how to say sorry when needed by now. It does not always work, but he is getting better. Teaching a child how to be responsible and kind while not ignoring important values does that to a person.

“I wanted to apologise again for what I said earlier,” Steve says when he is close enough to keep their conversation private. The last thing he needs is for the parents of Peter’s classmates to gossip about him. “I was out of line. It’s just –” He trails off, unsure how to wrap his insane fear of losing Peter into polite words.

“You’re protective of Peter,” Stark takes over and nods like it is the most natural thing in the world. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not,” Steve says firmly but watches Stark closely, looking for some sign that he was right, after all. That his inherent suspicions are warranted. He does not find any. Stark’s face is open if tinged with some scepticism. Otherwise, he is simply waiting for what Steve has to say.

“I feel like I should invite you to an apology coffee now.” The words are out before Steve knows what he is doing, and then it is too late to take them back, especially because he came here to smooth things over and not to make everything worse.

“Are you serious?” Stark asks, cocking his head to the side as he watches Steve, obviously waiting for the catch. “Because it sounded a lot like you want nothing to do with me.”

Steve never quite managed to keep his feelings hidden. Going forward that will not become easier. He is damaged, no matter that his friends keep telling him he should not think that way.

He reaches up to scratch his neck, suddenly more uncomfortable than before. “My best friend made some assumptions when I told him about our meeting at the expo,” he then says, keeping his tone as neutral as he can. He does not blush, so that is a bonus. “I let that cloud my judgement. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Stark – _Tony_ – looks like he wants to ask about what assumptions they made but visibly holds himself back. Then his lips twitch up into a smile. “All right. Let us exchange numbers so we can figure out a time.” He stops his motions to get out his phone and glances up at Steve. “Unless you want to go right now.”

Steve looks at where Peter is packing up his things and wonders what he is doing. This is exactly what he did not want, getting entangled further with Stark. This time, he is the only one to blame, though. And he does not actually regret it yet either.

“How about next week?” he asks, reaching for his own phone. “Thursday perhaps?”

Tony smiles, full and pleased as if that is the exact outcome he has been hoping for. “Sounds good.”

They exchange numbers and shake hands. Then Steve is on his way back to his son, wondering what he was thinking, what he got himself into here. He will have to be careful what he tells Peter or the news will make it to Bucky and Clint before he can do some damage control.

This is not the start of some whirlwind romance as Bucky seems to believe. This is just coffee to apologise for his behaviour. That does not have to mean anything.

* * *

Steve does not have much time to draw for fun anymore. He sometimes does while Peter is doing homework, but he rarely manages more than doodles and sketches. Most days, he does not regret it either. He used to draw Peggy all the time, but that is still too painful.

The familiarity of the motions still calms him, even though he does it professionally now, which always puts a certain stress to things. It is the most relaxing thing in the world to just let his fingers fly over the paper without consciously checking every line.

That is until he looks down and sees that his mindless doodle has an uncanny resemblance to Tony Stark, brilliant smile and all. Steve stills, frozen as he wonders what that means.

Nothing, of course. It is no surprise that Tony is on his mind. They have had some turbulent meetings and later this day they will drink a cup of coffee together. Afterwards, they will leave to get back to their own lives. End of story. 

Forcefully pushing down all further thoughts on the topic, Steve takes the piece of paper and crumples it up into a tight ball before he throws it into the bin beside his desk. Better not to dwell on that. Nothing good lies that way. 

He has no interest in Tony, wants nothing more out of this than to apologise for his atrocious behaviour. No matter what Peter is hoping or what his friends insinuate with winks. They are just two men who will drink coffee together in a public place. Nothing indecent about that. 

  
A curse escapes him when he glances at his watch. Tony will be here soon, and he still has to change. Well, at least he does not have time to worry about what to wear.

* * *

When Tony rings the bell of Steve’s apartment, half-convinced that he was given a wrong address as a prank, it is Peter who opens the door for him. He is smiling just as brightly as he did at the expo, looking at Tony as if his birthday has come early. Few enough people do that – mostly drunks, hopeful inventors, and those who want to get something out of him – and Tony is floored again at the genuine joy in Peter’s eyes.

“Mr. Stark.”

The kid is a delight. Despite public opinion, Tony would not mind a family. He might have had mostly poor examples growing up, but that only makes him want to do it right.

And Peter is smart and curious and not at all shy about it, all the good things that were trained out of Tony at a young age. It is almost like seeing an alternate version of himself, if he had been allowed to be a child at any point in his life.

“Peter,” Tony says, not holding back his smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

If possible, Peter’s expression becomes even brighter. As he opens the door wider to let Tony in, he looks over his shoulder and hollers, “Dad, Mr. Stark is here.”

Something crashes in the back of the apartment. A few seconds after that, Steve shouts back, sounding muffled, “Coming.”

If not for Peter’s snickering, Tony might have worried Steve has hurt himself. They share another smile as Tony steps into the narrow hall. He tries his best to not seem too curious but cannot help looking around, trying to catch a glimpse at the person Steve is.

Everything looks inviting and strangely tidy, considering this is an all-male household with a young child. Several pairs of shoes are sitting in a neat row, the small sideboard next to the door is not cluttered. The only door that is open is at the far end of the hall, showing the kitchen. Fruits are stacked on a counter and Tony can see the fridge with several drawings pinned to it.

Without warning, Tony’s chest constricts with longing. He still does not know much about Steve and his life, but he craves a part of it.

“Are you nervous?” Peter asks, ripping Tony out of his thoughts. “You look like my uncle Sam before he goes out to meet people.”

Nervous is one way to describe it. There is no lack of people in Tony’s life who would kill to go out on a date with him. Few of them are as brutally honest with him as Steve, and even less invoke that tingling feeling of _want_ inside Tony. So, yes, he is nervous. Against all odds, he wants something to come of this meeting, despite knowing that their lives are so very different and Steve’s opinion of him is not actually very good.

“You know, I have a habit of talking so much about robots that other people get tired of listening to me,” Tony replies, masking the sad tinge of his voice with a shrug.

If Peter is as smart as he already appears, he will find out soon enough that the world turns just so slowly at times and that people will always have problems keeping up with him.

“Dad is never tired of listening to me,” Peter counters earnestly, eager to reassure Tony with a heart-warming openness. “And he’s been drawing you, so he likes you.”

Drawing him? That is certainly interesting. And important, if Peter’s face is anything to go by. Before Tony can ask anything about that, however. Steve arrives in the hallway with a warning “Peter,” on his lips.

He looks gorgeous, wearing a shirt that is spanning deliciously over his muscles, and jeans that promise an appealing sight of his butt. Tony tells himself not to stare, but that turns out impossible. If _he_ could draw, he would definitely have found his new muse right here. He cannot compare himself to that. At all.

“Don’t listen to anything he said,” Steve says, leaving Tony flabbergasted for a moment.

They are off to a brilliant start if Steve is already warning Peter to dismiss him. It might be a sensible thing to do, considering that Tony has no experience with Peter at all, but they did not even talk about anything specific. And yet, Steve felt it important to make that comment. Then Tony sees Steve is looking down at Peter with undeniable fondness on his face and realises that the _he_ Steve was talking about is Peter.

As if Tony could forget someone telling him that Steve is apparently drawing him. That sounds like his chances are not completely hopeless.

“Ready to go?” Tony asks instead of making any promises he will not keep, anyway. He does wink at Peter, though, and does not bother to be secretive about it. The grin he receives in answer is more than worth the possible reprimand.

Steve does not comment on it but smiles briefly and nods. “I’ve got my phone with me, bud. Call me if you need anything. And Bucky can be here in five minutes.”

“I know, Dad,” Peter says, sounding almost like he is rolling his eyes internally. “I’m not a baby anymore. Have fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick at home, which is not how I planned to spend my free weekend. Yay...
> 
> Thank you all for your kind comments so far. Enjoy the next chapter!

They make their way down to the car in silence. Steve seems flustered, now that he has stepped out of his apartment and does not have Peter to concentrate on anymore. He answers when Tony attempts to make small talk, pointing out things outside the window and asking about Steve’s day, but he is hardly engaging. Tony’s expectations for the afternoon drop before they have even reached their destination.

He should not be surprised. Steve was uncomfortable around him the entire time at the expo and his apology after the workshop was rather generic, borne of guilt rather than a desire to actually spend any time with Tony. It is nothing new. In the flesh, many people find Tony disappointing.

The café Steve proposed is small and looks little promising from the outside, but Tony is very glad to escape the car. If the air between them will remain this tense, he will at least have coffee to cling to.

Steve follows him out and holds the door of the café open for Tony, which is a pleasant contrast to the scowl he wears. It is a mostly cold comfort that Steve himself does not seem to know how to behave, but Tony takes what he can get.

They choose a table in the back where they will have some privacy and can look through the window at the same time. The sight of Brooklyn is not very enticing, Tony thinks secretly, but they might need something to focus their attention on if things stay this monosyllabic.

It smells very much of coffee, at least, and they have barely sat down before the barista brings them the big pot Tony ordered the moment he entered. She is all smiles and shows no recognition or awe at having Tony Stark in the house. That is always a plus.

“Any cake for you?” she asks and looks at Tony, although not before jotting down something on her notepad.

“Something with chocolate?” Tony asks, to which she nods and makes to leave. Frowning, Tony looks at Steve. “Don’t you want anything?”

“Oh, Mr. All-American-Wonder here always eats apple pie,” the barista answers with a good-natured smirk. “Don’t let him tell you he has a varied appetite.”

“Darcy,” Steve groans but is smiling too.

“Just laying down the facts so there will be no wrong expectations.” She snickers as she walks off, and Tony decides he likes her.

More curious is why Steve brought him to a place where he is well known. Especially since he does not seem at all certain about whether he wants to be seen with him. Tony thinks he will take it as a good sign.

Steve pours them both coffee, obviously needing to keep his hands busy. Only then does he look up. “I’m sorry about Peter,” he says, sounding chagrined. “He doesn’t yet know what’s appropriate to say to other people. I’m afraid my friends aren’t helping with that.”

Tony stares for a long moment, wondering what this is about until he remembers Peter’s comment about Steve drawing him. He can see why that might be a strange thing, considering that they do not know each other at all, but Steve does not appear to be the weird, stalkerish type.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says quickly, hoping to dismiss Steve’s worries so they can get on with their afternoon. “Everybody will tell you I’m a narcissist. I love people making me the subject of their art.”

He winces, even though he should not be surprised at his uncanny ability to make things even more awkward.

Steve looks up, at least, studying him with sudden interest. “And is it true?”

All the bad things usually are, although sometimes not to the extent people are making them out to be.

“The narcissism? Depends on the medium, I suppose. I don’t care for statues and paintings. But if I can do a little good in the world, I don’t mind my name being thrown around,” Tony says, then bites the insides of his cheek, hard. This is not an interview where he has to sell something good about himself. “I’m sorry, that makes me sound like a real douchebag.”

He is terrible at talking to people when he does not know what they want from him. It has come as a complete surprise that Steve asked him out, no matter that it was out of guilt. Tony was excited to come. Only now he does not seem able to stop digging holes for himself. No better way to explore his own narcissism than to shove his attempts at charity down someone else’s throat.

Steve does not appear to be put off, though. On the contrary, where he still seemed awkward a moment before, he is now frowning at Tony as if he is trying to figure him out. 

“You are doing good,” he says, almost as if needs to convince Tony of that. “I know because we’ve directly benefitted from your veteran program. My best friend has one of your prosthetics. Everybody else we saw before your people told us the damage was too extensive, but your team sat down and made it happen, anyway.”

“I’m glad that worked out for you,” Tony says, still smiling but realising he might have misjudged Steve’s reasons for asking him out more than he thought. He thought it was guilt for accusing him of wanting to steal Peter and then being rude before the workshop. Perhaps he is just here because Steve worries he will find out who this best friend is and refuse to continue his care. Or, of course, he wants to get a better deal.

Tony swallows a sigh and is glad when the barista, Darcy, appears, putting down two plates with generous pieces of cake for the both of them.

“Enjoy,” she chirps and vanishes, leaving a bitter taste in Tony’s mouth. He seems to have already botched that up.

“It’s doing much more than that,” Steve insists when they are alone again. He looks at Tony with a strange urgency, wanting to make sure, perhaps, that he is having Tony’s attention and they will not stray from this topic until he gets what he wants. “We were all worried he wouldn’t make it, but getting his arm back was like a miracle. I can only imagine how many people you saved that way.”

Flattery will not get Steve anywhere. Too many people try that every day. There was a time Tony fell for that, starved of affection and throwing himself at anyone willing to offer a kind word or touch. He has grown up since then.

“Well, if he needs anything more, just tell me,” Tony says with a generic smile, brittle at the edges, and reaches for his cup. If he will have to cut this short, he wants to at least taste the coffee.

When he looks up again, Steve’s eyes are on him. It feels like this is the very first time because his gaze is intense, almost like a physical weight. A frown has taken over his entire face, making it seem like he is upset, although Tony wonders what he has done wrong.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Steve says with unexpected vehemence, The mere thought seems appalling to him. “And if you’ll ever meet Bucky and he asks for anything, it’ll be a joke. And if it’s not, I’ll take care of it. We are very fortunate already, and we don’t exploit people.”

That would be a first, Tony thinks but does not say. He believes Steve for some reason. People have tried to fool him before, but Steve has an honesty to him that has nothing to do with the firmness of his tone and everything with how serious his eyes are.

“I’ll remember that,” Tony replies, much softer now. It is nice to hear that he is not here to be exploited, apparently. That leaves him at a loss again at what Steve wants instead, though. “But enough of doubting our motives for being here. What do you do when you’re not protecting your son from creepy strangers?”

Tony should probably stop making jabs at that. As far as he can see it, he is not yet out of danger. He is desperate to get a proper conversation going, however, something that allows him to get to know Steve a bit, to find his footing.

For a moment, Steve hesitates like he will not let Tony change the topic. But then the tension in his shoulders eases a bit as he shrugs.

“I’m an artist. I do some freelance work. Mostly comics these days,” he says, sounding like someone who has had to defend his career choice a dozen times before. “Nothing you would have heard of.”

“An artist, huh?” Tony echoes, making no secret of his surprise. He can barely keep himself from looking Steve up and down, asking what an artist needs all those muscles for. “I must admit I didn’t expect that.”

Steve is a veteran, he has found out that much already. That seems like quite the change, going from combat to drawing. There are many reasons to enlist, though. Perhaps he is a patriot, perhaps he simply needed the promised monetary assistance to go to college. Tony has no intention to judge either way.

“People never do.” Steve shrugs and looks down at his plate to take a first bite of his cake. With a rather wry smile, he adds, “That has occasionally worked out in my favour.”

Tony’s mind immediately plummets into the gutter. If he wanted to employ an artist and Steve walked in, he is not sure he could have held himself back from making unsolicited offers. That was hard not to do even under the circumstances they really met, with Steve yelling at him. He should really learn to keep his desires under better check.

He raises his coffee cup to his mouth to hide any inappropriate twitch of his expression. When he has himself under control again, he asks, “Because people expect some helpless waif and then you show up and they don’t dare to swindle you because they’re not sure whether those muscles are just for show?”

“They aren’t,” Steve agrees, still smiling but with something that sounds almost like a warning in his tone. As if Tony needs a reminder not to mess with him. “But yes. It apparently helps that I look decent in a suit.”

The mere thought of it has Tony’s mouth going dry, although he puts a lot of effort into showing nothing of that on his face. It is enough to be accused of wanting illicit things from Peter. He does not need to look like a complete lecher here too.

But. The shirt Steve is wearing already leaves little to the imagination. Tony has spent most of his life amongst beautiful people, but he knows that Steve would outshine them all if put into the right clothes.

Tony looks down at the table to keep himself from tracing Steve’s muscles. The cake is a welcome distraction. He takes a bite and savours the sweetness.

“What will Google show me if I put in your name?” he asks in a light tone as if he is not mentally dressing Steve up – with the ultimate goal of _un_ dressing him.

“Please don’t,” Steve says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Probably that comic I’ve been working on. It’s not – it’s about a group of superheroes. Peter loves it.”

While Tony expected something wildly different, he is not surprised either. Heroism appears to be an apt topic for Steve.

“I can imagine. Does one of them look like him?” Tony asks, then laughs when Steve blushes. The red creeping up his neck looks exquisite. “Wait, one of them looks like _you_.”

He needs to see this. Only with great effort can he keep himself from taking out his phone right here. Superhero is a much better career choice for someone with Steve’s physique and proclivity to throw himself at people with no mind for who they are and what trouble they can make for him.

Also, skin-tight clothes. The occasional ripped costume. Heroic speeches. Eternal love. Tony is already invested.

“There might be some resemblance,” Steve admits, the blush darkening. “Another one looks like his mother. I guess it helped both of us cope.”

Tony sobers up immediately. What is he doing? He cannot lust after a man who he has only just met and who is obviously carrying the world on his shoulders, grief etched into the corners of every expression, even if he laughs. Over the years, Tony has done a number of inappropriate things, but throwing himself at unsuspecting strangers seems to never get old where he is involved.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, clinging to his cup like a shield. “What happened to his mother?”

All traces of his smile vanish from Steve’s face. He immediately looks years older and world-weary. A shiver runs through him as if all the warmth has been sucked out of the room. Tony watches it with growing discomfort and still waits while Steve opens and closes his mouth several times until he speaks up.

“Wait, you don’t have to tell me. It was insensitive to ask.”

What a way to ruin their afternoon. Tony really does not know what to do with good things when they are handed to him.

Steve covers his mouth for a moment, looking like he wants to keep in whatever he is trying to say. His eyes are unbelievably sad, and still, he shakes his head.

“It’s all right. I’d be curious too,” he says in a soft tone that sounds as if it comes from miles away.

“Curiosity is not an excuse,” Tony remarks sharply, aims it at himself as a reminder, although he has little hope that he will ever learn more tact.

Steve looks at Tony, really looks at him with heavy intensity, even while the rest of him appears to withdraw. His eyes are dark, glistening with what can only be unshed tears.

“She – it was a plane crash,” he then says, voice barely louder than a whisper. He clears his throat and adds, stronger if no less affected, “We met in the military. Did two tours together and got through that mostly intact. And then she dies on her way back from visiting her family.”

Grief clings to Steve like a palpable thing, a barrier between him and the world. It all makes sense now. The hyperaware protectiveness of their son, the surprised-to-bad reactions to Tony’s flirting. This is a man still very much in love with his wife.

Death is a cruel master, striking when least expected. Tony can imagine the shock of it. Two people who lay their life on the line every day, only to come home to settle down together, and to be ripped apart there.

“I loved her long before she ever loved me back. It was instant for me,” Steve keeps talking, sparing Tony to try to find something to say. “We had a good life planned. But – you know.” He shrugs, failing to make it look nonchalant. “Peter is growing up so quickly, I can’t keep holding on to the past.”

If nothing else, Tony is a master at that. He built a revolutionary AI just because he could not let go of their family butler.

“But it’s hard,” Tony says as if he has a right to.

Steve inclines his head, staring at the hand holding the fork as if he cannot make sense of it. “It is,” he then admits, making no move to shut Tony up. “My friends – we’re pretty close-knit. They helped a lot. And they’re right. It’s not fair to Peter to lose both his parents in one strike.”

It is wrong to be jealous of a dead spouse, but hearing the tenderness in Steve’s voice has Tony’s heart aching to have someone talk about him that way. To have someone at his side who loves him like that, to mean the world to someone. Despite the ever-growing number of terrible experiences he has had with relationships, Tony still longs for a great romance, for someone he can rely on no matter what.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says again, although he knows it is not his place to offer comfort. He is not sure he can offer anything at all.

“It’s still so very hard to get up some days, knowing she won’t be there.” Steve has not yet looked up again. Perhaps he has even forgotten that Tony is there at all. “If one of us had to – she would have handled this much better. Peter –”

For the moment, Tony does not care whether he has the right or not, he will not listen to Steve tearing himself down like that. He might not know much about Steve’s life, but he has seen him interact with Peter, has seen the love in both their eyes, the willingness to go against the entire world to make sure that Peter is safe.

“Don’t say that,” Tony interrupts Steve in a harsher tone than intended. “You might just be the best father I have ever seen. Peter loves you, he is not afraid to talk around you. You look like you wouldn’t hesitate to go to the end of the world for him. I don’t know your wife, but I know a good father when I see one.”

Which is nonsense, of course. Tony has no experience whatsoever with good fathers. Howard was terrible, and even on Obadiah’s list of priorities came quite a number of things before his godson. He had Jarvis, though, and despite the formality of their relationship, Tony likes to imagine they were a real family.

Steve looks up, his expression marred by reluctance, but his eyes have brightened. “Thank you, Tony,” he says in a hoarse voice, not quite convinced but at least not arguing the point. Then, visibly pulling himself together, he asks, “Do you have family?”

Tony has no doubt that Steve just wants to change the topic, even while he is perhaps not even able to take in any new information at the moment. It does not matter. Tony is still happy to indulge him.

Family, to him, are Pepper and Rhodey. He could talk about them all day, brilliant people as they are. So he takes another sip of coffee and falls right into the story of how Rhodey made sure Tony survived the college experience.

It takes a while, but Steve’s expression slowly brightens. When he laughs at a re-telling of how Pepper earned her nickname, Tony internally pats his shoulder. Mission accomplished.

Darcy keeps them well-supplied with coffee, and they do manage to eat their cakes in between all their talking. The afternoon flies by, especially once Steve is fully back in the present with him. It is nice.

Too soon, they are standing outside of the café and get back into the car. It is only a short drive to Steve’s home, and while Steve said he could walk, Tony insisted. He is strangely reluctant to let go of Steve already. It might be the last time they ever see each other, even though he is reasonably sure that Steve enjoyed himself too.

When they park in front of Steve’s house, Steve at least does not jump up immediately but remains in his seat, smiling.

“Thank you for today,” Tony says earnestly. “I enjoyed it very much.”

He studies Steve’s profile in case he will never get to see it again. Then Steve looks at him and that sight is much better. Kind eyes, full lips.

“I did too,” Steve replies, even though a frown flits over his face. Tony tries not to take it personal.

Still, he cannot help but comment, “That sounds sceptical.”

Considering how they met, it is a miracle in itself they sat down for coffee at all. Tony does not want to sound ungrateful, but it is a recurring theme in his life that he is never satisfied with what he is given, always reaching for more.

“I – well, I doubted whether coming here was the right thing to do, but it was,” Steve answers, taking Tony’s comment more seriously than expected. “I was wrong about you.”

Tony grins, not hiding how pleased he is. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

It takes almost physical effort to not ask whether they will see each other again. He does not want to push Steve, even though he is loath to let him go at all.

When Steve unbuckles the seatbelt and opens the car door, Tony keeps up his smile, cursing himself for waiting for more.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says, and that is it.

“Any time,” Tony answers cheerfully, hoping that is hint enough.

Steve does not react to it but gets out of the car. He walks off and, once he is at the door to his apartment house, turns around again and waves.

Tony already misses him. 

* * *

Steve lies awake that night, seeing Tony’s smile in front of him, bright and unguarded. Warmth floods his core, making his fingertips tingle, although he cannot explain why. He cannot explain any of this.

How did they go from Steve yelling at Tony and accusing him from untoward behaviour to spilling his guts to him over coffee? Steve has not talked about Peggy with anyone outside his immediate group of friends. The wounds are still too fresh. Yet, one question from Tony Stark and he broke open, the words flowing out of his mouth as if they have just been waiting for their chance.

Perhaps they have. Steve feels lighter now. At the same time, it is as if he has started something he has no idea how to finish. He does not lead the kind of life that could accommodate Tony Stark, even if he wanted to. It is not as if he can invite a billionaire into his Brooklyn apartment for pizza and movies along with his friends. The entire basis for their acquaintance is a misunderstanding and Steve’s desire to make up for his behaviour. Well, and Peter’s enthusiasm. None of that really leaves room for more.

He will stop this – if there is anything to stop. They have exchanged numbers, but that is not necessarily an invitation to keep writing. Steve wanted to apologise and he did. That is all there is to it.

Only it is not.

The first text from Tony comes in during the night. Steve is immediately fully awake. Messages at this time usually come with bad news so he sighs in relief when he sees it is from Tony.

His heart beating wildly, which he blames on the adrenaline kick of suspecting one of his friends is in trouble, Steve reads the text. It is something light about how he needs more of that coffee they had if he wants to avoid falling asleep at his desk.

Steve sits up in bed as he picks up the phone, composing a message to tell Tony that he should try sleeping like normal people do, and that too much caffeine intake will not do him any good.

Even before he has typed everything out, Steve erases the words. What is he doing? This will not lead anywhere, so he should stop right now before things become awkward.

It takes effort to put his phone back down. Then he turns away from his nightstand and presses his eyes shut. Time to sleep. It was a nice afternoon but now he has to get back to his real life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm still sick - and supposed to get an MRI. As if I'll get an appointment sometime this decade. The only good thing about this is that I don't have to work this weekend!
> 
> Anyway, on to the chapter. (Sorry about ranting, but sometimes it's good to yell into the void.)

It keeps happening. Tony sends him short texts over the next days, commenting on the longevity of board meetings when he wants them the least, retelling unruly experiments, asking small questions about Steve’s life.

For all that it is a rather one-sided conversation, Steve still learns a lot about Tony. For one, he does not seem to sleep, ever. The texts come in at all times, from early in the morning to late at night, ignoring down time or business hours. Also, Tony’s mind seems able to jump from topic to topic with no pause in between, writing on a variety of subjects, sometimes almost within the same sentence.

Steve does not answer. Neither the questions about theoretical physics that he sometimes barely understands, nor the inquiries about good coffee places in Brooklyn or whether Steve has ever been to the great art museums in Europe.

Despite being certain that it would be smarter to not even read the messages, Steve cannot quite bring himself to ignore them. He likes the way Tony can send sleep-deprived nonsense one moment, only to jump to some deep question only moments later. It makes him smile and think like he seldom does during the ever same routine of his days.

Yet, he is determined not to cave. Tony’s interest will fade. Even now, he does not know what Tony wants from him, but he is convinced he cannot give it.

Then, however, Tony sends him a picture from a truly horrendous piece of modern art that looks more like someone butchered the artist while he was painting than art with actual love behind its strokes. 

_Looking for new art for my office,_ Tony writes. _This okay?_

This is very much not okay. Steve’s fingers fly over the screen and he has typed out an answer before he knows what he is doing.

_Don’t you dare waste money on that._

Too late, Steve thinks it is very much not his place to critique Tony’s choices of art. He has no idea what Tony’s office looks like or what other paintings they have in the tower. Perhaps Tony likes these kinds of paintings and was trying to impress Steve with his bold choices. Perhaps he is overthinking this, but his heart still leaps into his throat as he stares down on his screen, wondering how Tony will react.

Before too long, Tony’s reply comes in. Every second feels like an eternity.

_I’m so glad you’re saying that,_ Tony writes. _I didn’t believe the designer guy when he told me this would fit perfectly. Still wanted to check in with a real authority._

That is when Steve realises he might have a problem. It should no matter what Tony thinks or that Steve is pleased at Tony asking for his opinion. They are nothing to each other, so Steve does not have to make a good impression. This is leading nowhere.

Perhaps it is, though. With steps almost too small to notice, Tony has wormed himself into Steve’s life and thoughts. He cannot make sense of it.

_Believe nothing that people say when they try to make money off you_. Steve realises that Tony should know that better than him. He is, after all, dealing with businessmen all day, while Steve only draws what other people want to see.

A more appropriate answer would have been that he is no authority on what Tony is supposed to do with his life, even when it is only about the paintings he hangs up. He should ask why Tony keeps contacting him, pretending his opinion matters when it is clear that Tony wants something else. Only that he still does not know what that is, not for all the hours he has wondered about it. 

Talking to Tony was so easy, almost instinctive. Steve misses it, although he has no right to. His life is good, simple. He does not want for anything other than his wife. Yet, following a sudden impulse, he writes another text.

_Do you want to go to dinner with me?_

As soon as that is sent, he stares down at the screen, wishing he could take the words back. What is he doing? He does not need to make this more complicated than it already is. He does not want to get entangled further with Tony. Writing back in the first place was a mistake, but inviting Tony to see him again is much worse.

At the same time, he is longing for the way Tony looked at him. Appreciative and cheeky, never once looking like he is expecting Steve to break down like his friends sometimes do. It does not even matter that he is a man and kind of a celebrity, that they live in completely different worlds and that nothing will come of this – it should not, really. Steve just wants to do something crazy, something new, something where he can pretend that he is not damaged goods.

Tony knows about Peggy. Even now Steve is not sure why he told him. Her death is still a festering wound. Her loss still keeps him up at night. And yet, one question from Tony and Steve spilled the entire story. Just like that. He would not even take it back. And still, Tony keeps showing interest in him.

Lost in thoughts, Steve almost does not notice the buzzing of his phone.

_Tonight?_ Tony asks as if he is not wondering what Steve is doing. As if the question of when is more pressing than of why Steve is suddenly pushing forward after not saying anything for an entire week. _I can get us a table and pick you up at seven._

This is moving too fast, Steve thinks, even though he is the one who set this in motion. Despite that, he is already wondering who of his friends can look after Peter tonight.

_Nothing that requires us to wear suits_ , Steve replies, ignoring the heavy lump inside his stomach. The nervousness filling him. This is madness. Utter madness.

_While I would have loved to see you in a suit, I have the right place in mind._

What are they doing? What has Steve just agreed to? Worse, what has he just initiated? That first time going out was nothing more than an apology. Steve was rude and he needed to make up for it. This now, however, is deliberate. They could have been done with each other, and yet Steve pressed for more. And Tony accepted.

And now they will have dinner together. He, Steve Rogers, comic book artist, widower, single father, and Tony Stark, tech genius, billionaire. This – whatever this is – is doomed to fail.

_Seven sounds good_ , Steve writes back, even though nothing about this is good.

He might have a panic attack. His hands are growing sweaty as he stares down at his phone screen, heartbeat echoing inside his ear. _Da-dum, da-dum,_ like war drums, pressing the air out of his lungs.

Time is coming to a halt. He wants to go back five minutes and keep this from happening. All this will do is offer them all up for heartbreak. Tony will eventually lose interest, especially since Steve could not say why he got interested at all. Peter will be disappointed by his hero. And Steve will have to deal with this confusing mix of dread and yearning.

This is happening. Steve made this happen. Worse, he _wants_ it because he is interested in Tony too. Even with the combined insanity of his friends and the boundless enthusiasm of Peter, Steve’s life has become predictable. Tony is the exact opposite of that. He is dangerous and exciting and _new_.

Most of the excitement in Steve’s life has ended badly – the war, Bucky losing his arm, Peggy dying – but he cannot help but crave it, anyway.

Steve inhales deeply and wipes his hands on his jeans as he tells his heart to calm down. It is done. He will have dinner with Tony tonight. Most likely, that is the last time they will see each other because Steve just does not have to offer anything, so there is no need to panic.

With a jerk, Steve gets to his feet. It is still morning, so he has the entire day to clear his head. As much as possible, at least. He needs to make sure someone is there to look after Peter tonight.

The choice is simple since he does not particularly want to talk about what is happening. Natasha will come if he asks and while she will definitely have her opinion about the situation, she will not tease him like Bucky or Clint would do, nor push him into talking like Sam. She might be the worst of them when things are getting bad, intent on solving all their problems, but as long as Steve is just having internal panic, she will be lenient. And she might not tell the rest of their group about this. Not immediately. That way, Steve has a chance to figure out what he will say.

Steve sends Natasha a text and has an answer within minutes. No questions, no advice. That is why he loves her. Well, one of the reasons.

The more difficult conversation is still ahead of him.

“Hey, bud,” Steve says as he arrives in Peter’s open door. Peter is doing homework and looks up immediately at the interruption. “I need to go somewhere tonight. Do you mind Natasha coming over?”

Peter frowns. It is not that Steve never goes out, only that he seldom does it this spontaneously. “Where are you going?”

Steve could lie. It would probably make things easier to do so, especially if he wants to keep this from his friends for a while longer, at least until he has figured out what he is doing. He has long ago decided not to lie to his son, though. Not about the important things.

“I’m going to have dinner with Tony.”

Peter’s eyes grow as wide as his smile. So much so that Steve expects him to plead to be allowed to come. That would be madness, bringing his son to a date. Steve would certainly not get a chance to say anything. And Tony – well, Tony might not even mind too much.

This is not a date, anyway. Just dinner between two people who enjoy talking to each other. _Date_ implies this is going somewhere while Steve is very much rooted in place.

“Are you going to kiss him?” Peter asks with the innocent curiosity only a child can manage. It works like a charm to catapult Steve right back into the present.

“What?” Steve splutters, certain he has misheard. One look at Peter’s pretty determined expression tells him he has not.

“Uncle Bucky said you might,” Peter insists, the first hint of stubbornness in his tone.

Steve will murder Bucky for putting inappropriate ideas into Peter’s head – and now in his too. He wonders whether it is too late to cancel dinner. Tony would ask why, though, and Steve cannot tell him he is afraid of any possible kissing happening. 

That is certainly not what Tony wants from him, anyway. He is not sure _what_ Tony wants, but he must have better options. Even if Steve were interested, which he is not. Because of Peggy. Because of Peter. Because he just does not do that, going out with strange men and kissing them.

With effort, Steve keeps his expression and tone calm as he asks, “What did I tell you about Uncle Bucky?”

“To not believe everything he says,” Peter recites dutifully. He does not roll his eyes, but his tone is the kind that would go well with it, humouring Steve while clarifying that Peter trusts Bucky more in this matter. “But will you? Kiss Tony?”

Life would be easier if Peter was a normal eight-year-old, disgusted by the very thought of adults kissing. Instead, he likely thinks of robots and more talks about science, and does not mind the icky stuff as long as Steve will bring Tony around again at some point.

“I will not,” Steve intones firmly, aiming for a stern expression. “Don’t go around and tell that to people.”

Peter looks like he wants to argue but ultimately just nods. Before the night is out, all of their friends will know about Steve possibly kissing Tony, he is sure. It is entirely possible that Clint and Natasha have already started a betting pool. They are proactive like that.

“Love you, Dad,” Peter says. He is slowly learning to change the topic if he does not want to answer specific questions. While he is still rather clumsy at it, Steve can admire the effort.

After echoing the sentiment, Steve walks back towards the kitchen, intent on getting some more work done. That might keep his mind occupied, at least. As he passes the door to his bedroom, however, he stops. He should probably choose what to wear tonight already. Once he starts working, he might forget the time. This should not take long, but he likes to be prepared. 

* * *

Dinner was wonderful. Steve has not laughed this freely or talked this unconcernedly in ages with anyone but Peter. Tony makes it seem easy. To let go of his worries for a while. To look at the world and see more than its edges and dead ends.

Deep down, this feels like a betrayal to his friends, who make a point of always being there for him when he needs them. He pushes down on that hard. They always try to get him to enjoy himself, whatever that is supposed to mean, so he tries his best to do just that.

Even only a few meetings in, it is obvious that Steve has misjudged Tony. The entire _world_ might have misjudged him. Instead of being sarcastic and self-centred, Tony knows how to listen, how to really engage in a conversation. Steve is seen and heard in a way he has not even known he missed.

Tony left his car somewhere and is walking Steve home. Having him by his side in these familiar streets is almost unreal. His steps fall lighter.

Too soon, they reach Steve’s house. If not for Peter and Natasha being up there, Steve would invite Tony up, just to keep the night from being over. Once the thought registers, he shakes his head lightly. That would not be proper. Then again, he has done _proper_ for a long while now and he is getting tired of it, at least when he allows himself to think about it.

“I enjoyed myself very much tonight,” Tony says, a smile tugging at his lips. He looks up at Steve, playing with the hem of his jacket.

“I did too,” Steve replies, his voice strangely hoarse.

This is too abrupt. He is just about to propose taking another walk around the block, when he notices the intensity of Tony’s gaze, directed solely on Steve. Nobody has looked at him – just him – in ages.

Later, Steve will blame it on Peter’s innocent comment, but his eyes drop down to Tony’s lips. They are beautiful, curved gracefully and full. He should not think about them that way.

With effort, Steve drags his eyes up to meet Tony’s. That sight is not any less dangerous. It is dark and Tony’s eyes are brown, but the light of the nearest street lamp is making them look like molten bronze.

He should say something, ask for another meeting or, which would probably be wiser, wish Tony a nice rest of his life, even though the very thought has resistance rising in him. Instead, he leans forward. It is a mostly unconscious movement, but he registers the exact moment Tony does the same. He could have stopped it, could have withdrawn, but he does not.

Their lips touch, at first very softly and then, when the warmth registers, more demanding. For one blissful moment, Steve does not think anything but melts completely into the kiss. He does not care about appearances or Peggy or whether what he is doing is right. All that matters is Tony and him moving in sync, melting into each other like they were made for it.

Then Steve angles his head for better access and their noses bump into each other, bringing him back to reality as a bucket of ice water would have.

With a jerking movement, Steve takes a step back, staring at Tony with disbelief while his mind is trying to catch up with what just happened. Before him, Tony still looks like he is caught in that dream – until he must feel the same sudden loss of warmth against his lips and his eyes clear.

“Thank you,” Steve blurts out, then bites the inside of his cheek to not say anything else. Even in his dazzled state he knows it would not be fair to throw the rest of his thoughts at Tony.

Over the chorus of _no_ and _this is wrong_ , Steve does not wait for an answer but turns towards his door and fumbles with his keys, never looking back. He does not hear steps, which would be hard, anyway, over the rushing in his ears, but he is certain that Tony is still standing on the sidewalk, his eyes bearing into Steve’s back.

Tony says nothing and Steve is glad for that. When he finally gets the door open, he flees inside. The last thing he sees when he glances over his shoulder, right before the door closes, are Tony’s eyes. They are tracking him, wide and perhaps a little sad.

Steve makes his way up the stairs, taking two steps at once, but when he stands in front of his apartment, he cannot bring himself to go in just yet. Instead, he sits down on the steps, needing to take the weight off his legs. He is unproportionally tired, as if he just ran a marathon.

Out of breath and still not able to think clearly, Steve buries his face inside his hands. What has he done? Kissing a man outside of their apartment house. And he made the first move, too. He could not keep his eyes off Tony’s lips this entire time and then they were kissing.

And it was good. Gentle and welcoming and – Steve missed that. The simple intimacies, saying things without having to look for words. He is just not sure he said the right thing.

Steve is not gay. He does not like men. He should not like anyone, considering he has a son waiting a few feet away from him. Kissing Tony was a mistake, even if the tingling in his lips tells him otherwise. Even if he wants nothing more than to go back down and catch Tony before he leaves.

* * *

Tony is not sure what to think. He is elated, of course. All night, he has been thinking about kissing Steve, and it was better than he imagined. That second before their lips met, it was like Steve was letting go of all his worries and reservations for the first time since they met.

Then, of course, Steve withdrew. The panic in his eyes still sits heavily in Tony’s chest. He keeps telling himself that he was not alone in initiating the kiss, that Steve moved forward just as much. They both enjoyed it, the moment was right. And yet.

Tony is not used to people not wanting to kiss him. Every day he navigates the incessant pool of other people’s needs. From the moment he was born, expectations were heaped upon him, and everybody needs him to always have more to give.

With Steve, on the other hand, it is more like Steve does not want to take anything from Tony, either because he has not yet realised how much there is to gain if he goes about this right, or because he is serious about forging his own path and sticking to what he knows.

That moment out there in front of Steve’s door, they have both wanted the exact same thing, if only for a second. And Tony cannot get the memory of Steve’s lips on his out of his head.

They have clicked in a way that Tony did not expect. Conversation between them is so easy, Tony does not have to filter his thoughts too much. But there is still room for more.

Once he is home, Tony is too restless to go to bed. He does not want to push Steve, but he cannot leave things as they are either. Between thinking Steve was hot during the expo and tonight, this has turned into something Tony does not want to lose.

Since he is too restless even to hide himself in his workshop, he huddles up on his couch, playing with his phone as he tries to find the right words to send to Steve.

_I’m sorry_ , he finally writes. _That was rather forward of me._

Steve’s rather quick flight suggests that he has not meant for the kiss to happen, at least not consciously. While Tony does not exactly want to give him an easy way out, he does not intend to push him into anything either.

_I left you standing on the sidewalk_ , Steve replies quickly. Tony half-expected to be left waiting. After a long minute, Steve adds, _I don’t normally do this._

What, Tony wants to ask. Steve does not normally kiss people after their second date? Or he does not normally run off after without a word?

Steve does not date, that much Tony already figured out. His wife has been dead for two-and-a-half years now, so that is not surprising. It would be stranger if things went smoothly. Still, that nagging voice in the back of Tony’s head tells him it is his fault. He pushed too much, cornered Steve, could not keep his thoughts from showing on his face.

Of course, he wanted to kiss Steve. Even beyond the fact that Steve looks gorgeous, he is kind and smart and likes to laugh. He does not look at Tony like he is constantly calculating how much he can get out of him. There is some wariness, but Tony feels like that has more to do with Steve’s circumstances than with who Tony is.

His last name has made a lot of things difficult in his life. Money attracts all kinds of people he does not want close. It is rare to meet someone who is so unimpressed by all of that.

Tony has a problem, He cannot get the kiss out of his head. Or, worse, the way Steve laughed. He wants to do it again and again. Forever is such an impossible word, but right now he is interested in seeing how close he can get to it.

_Hope I didn’t scare you off_ , Tony writes and holds his breath as he watches the screen indicate that Steve is typing.

The three dots vanish and return several times as the minutes pass. Tony is almost resigned to not getting an answer at all. Then, however, his phone vibrates with a new message.

_You haven’t_.

A smile steals itself unbidden on Tony’s face. Not everything is fine, but this is still happening. That is all he can ask for right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! (Sorry that this was rather short.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, and I apologize for always answering so late. I'm still sick but getting back to work on Monday (which I'm already dreading.)
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

It is never quite enjoyable to pick Peter up from school, at least not until Peter appears on the steps and comes towards him with a big smile on his face, as glad to see his father as Steve is to see him.

The minutes before that moment, however, are excruciating. He leans against his car and stares at the entrance door, doing his best to ignore the clusters of mothers all around him. He is the only man here and has been since Peter started going to school. So many disparaging comments were spat in his direction about the state of his marriage, based on the fact that, most of the time, it was not Peggy coming to pick up Peter. It only got worse after she died. The simmering anger at their short-sightedness never died down.

And now, a small voice in the back of Steve’s head pipes up, they might even have a point. He has been texting near constantly with Tony and they have a lunch date planned for tomorrow. The other parents might have called him a terrible father for all the wrong reasons, but he is slowly proving them right.

“That poor boy, having such a deviant for a father,” one of the women in the group closest to him is saying.

They know how to whisper, but they want their opinions to be heard. Their words have stopped to be cutting years ago, but he cannot help but shift nervously at that.

“Peggy was such a lovely woman,” another one of them sighs, the sound in stark contrast to the sharp glare she throws at him. “But what can you expect, with such a rough environment.”

Almost eagerly, the first woman leans forward, her voice even more pitched. “I heard all of his friends are _cajoling_ with each other, and now Molly saw him kissing another man in the middle of the street.”

Steve’s breath catches. Someone has _seen_ him and Tony. It was late that night and he thought the streets were empty. He was, of course, distracted, pulled in by Tony, whose mere presence is enough to outshine everything else.

Battling his attraction in secret is one thing, but for it to impact his life, _Peter’s_ life, is another altogether.

Over the rushing in his ears, he hears one of the women say, “It’s as if he doesn’t care for Peter at all.”

“The kid probably doesn’t even know how wrong this is.”

Heat shoots into Steve’s cheeks as he keeps his head up with effort. Who are these people to judge him and what he does with his time? Who are they to decide he is a bad father? Peter is his entire world. He will always come first.

Only, Steve has been thinking about Tony a lot, about this _thing_ they are doing, and – the women are _right_. What is he doing? He was so sure no one had seen him and Tony that night in front of his house, but even so he cannot just forget himself like that. He has a responsibility towards Peter.

With utter relief, Steve sees the doors open and Peter step out. He pushes the unwelcome thoughts to the back of his mind and puts a smile on his face that feels strained but will turn honest as soon as he has his son in his arms.

Let them talk, he thinks sullenly as they pull out of the parking lot. Nothing is happening, nothing that is endangering Peter’s well-being. Nothing deviant. Whatever might have been going on between him and Tony, it is high time to take a step back.

* * *

They meet a few blocks away from Stark Tower for lunch. Tony had been going on about decreasing the chances of some bored reporter recognising them, and sounded rather sheepish about it. Considering that the parents at Peter’s school are already gossiping about Steve, they do not need to make it worse.

Once Steve spots Tony waiting for him, however, he cannot imagine him _not_ attracting looks wherever he goes. He is wearing sunglasses and what looks to be at least half a suit, the shirt spanning over his arms, and Steve finds his mouth go dry.

Nervousness, he tells himself. Nothing more. Because he has no idea what he is doing here, and what Tony could possibly want from him. 

Before Steve has reached him, Tony pockets his phone and looks up with a smile that cannot be described as anything but eager. The sight hits Steve somewhere beneath his sternum – at least until he scolds himself and banishes that damn eagerness.

“Steve,” Tony greets once they are close enough to each other to not have to raise their voices.

Steve expects Tony to keep talking right away. About the restaurant he has chosen or about his day or to ask any of the hundred questions that seem to go around his head at any given time. Instead, he looks up at Steve with a strangely expectant expression, his head tilted just so that Steve has an entirely inappropriate view of his lips.

The very same lips he has spent too much time thinking about already. Which does not mean anything, of course. Not if he keeps those thoughts carefully buried inside his own head.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting for long,” Steve replies, keeping his tone light. If he had not been watching Tony so closely, he might have missed the shadow passing over his expression, almost like disappointment.

“Nope, just got here,” Tony says, looking just as cheerful as before. It was probably just Steve’s imagination. “Come on, I’m starving.”

Everything becomes easier as soon as they are moving. Since they cannot stare at each other quite as obsessively like this, Steve’s tongue is less numb but more willing to form actual words. And his brain, almost as if it is busy with directing his feet, does not overthink everything so much.

Tony asks about the newest pickle Steve’s comic heroes are getting into, listening with more interest than Steve has come to expect from adults. In turn, Steve asks about Tony’s projects, always delighted by how alive Tony appears when talking about them, even though Steve only understands about half of it.

They have walked maybe two blocks when Tony’s hand brushes against Steve’s. They touch only for a fraction of a second, but Steve’s skin immediately grows warm, making his fingers itch for – something.

Steve is glad he was not talking because he is busy enough to keep his steps from faltering. Beyond the odd handshake, he and Tony have not touched. Well. Apart from the kiss that Steve is trying not to think about. Nothing good can come from lingering on these things.

A few minutes later, however, Tony brushes against him again. The contact lasts longer this time, as one of Tony’s fingers twitches, almost caressing the back of Steve’s hand.

Immediately, all of Steve’s thoughts single in on that, unable to follow the conversation anymore. The only things he still registers are the empty air around his hand and the possibility of another touch. His arm grows heavy as if all the blood in his body is eager to gather there.

He does not have to wait long. Tony keeps talking and uses one hand to gesticulate. The other, however, is just hanging there by his side and, soon enough, reaches for Steve again.

This time, there is no more denying the deliberation behind it. Steve is hyperaware of every movement and notices the way Tony twists his hand and splays his fingers, almost teasing Steve to touch back. It lasts too long this time, almost as if Tony will not withdraw again. A definite question is hidden behind that, only that Steve does not know the answer.

“What are you doing?” Steve blurts, interrupting whatever story Tony was telling.

His feet refuse to keep moving so he stands in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at Tony with wide eyes, all because he cannot handle a slight touch.

Tony stops too and turns to him with a curiously careful expression. His arm is still stretched towards Steve.

“Taking your hand,” he then answers, too calm.

In response, Steve’s heart beats wildly. Almost too late, considering that all the action – if one were to call it that – is already over.

“We’re in public,” Steve says, pointing vaguely at the people around them.

It is the middle of the day, but New York is never empty. Dozens of eyes could be on them at any given time. While they might not care one bit about what Tony and Steve are up to, all it needs is one person who knows them, who knows Steve, and then he will be nothing more than the guy holding hands with another man in broad daylight.

“And? It’s not illegal for two men to hold hands in public anymore,” Tony says, curious more than dejected. Then his frown eases a bit. “Unless you’re worried about the press. I’ve had JARVIS checking for reporters, and Happy is following us. It’s all right not to be ready to be plastered on the front page of some magazine, but we can be reasonably sure nobody’s filming us right now.”

The press. Steve did not even consider that, too occupied with someone from work or Peter’s school passing by. But someone is always looking for new, hopefully compromising pictures of Tony. Steve would be nothing more than collateral damage.

“But not a hundred percent,” Steve croaks, pretending that was his concern all along.

Perhaps he should say that he does not _want_ to hold hands with Tony. That is not what they are. Even though Steve’s arm feels cold and heavy, now that the touch Steve did not want in the first place is denied to it.

“Sometimes I forget that you’re such a security freak,” Tony says with a good-natured smile, apparently not put out by Steve’s refusal. “All right, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Steve feels a tangible loss when they start walking again and Tony keeps a careful distance between them, leaving no chance for them to touch even accidentally. It is as if all the warmth has been sucked out of his limbs. He is being ridiculous. Public affection will do both of them a lot of damage in the long run. The gossiping mothers in front of Peter’s school made that very clear. And Steve does not _want_ it either.

The kiss was a mistake already. Certainly, Tony is seeing that the same way.

* * *

Nothing could have prepared Steve for the sight of Tony on his knees. He appears impossibly larger like that, filling Steve’s entire vision. Nothing else in the world registers but the way Tony leans forward, his lips meeting the skin of Steve’s thigh with delicate softness. Hunger hangs in the air and Steve wants nothing more than to reach out and bury his fingers in Tony’s curls. At the same time, he does not want to rush this. If his eternity looked like this, he would die a happy man.

Tony kisses his way upward, looking up at Steve through thick lashes as he stops right before Steve’s straining cock. The teasing will be the end of him. He opens his mouth, ready to plead if that is what it takes. The only thing that escapes him is a moan because that is when Tony’s lips close around Steve’s length, moving in with a wicked glint in his eyes.

All rational thought flees Steve’s mind. The only things that matter in this moment are Tony’s wanton heat around him and the mounting pressure in his chest.

He reaches out now, running his hand through Tony’s hair. While he does not pull Tony in closer, Tony’s movements gain a new fervour, anyway.

This is the closest Steve has been to heaven in years. When he feels himself inching closer to the edge, he tightens his hold on Tony, prepared to warn him. No words pass over his lips, however, replaced by a breathless yell as he comes apart with more force than he thought possible, undone by Tony in a way that makes him think he never wants to be whole again.

Steve wakes up with sweat clinging to his skin, gasping for air like he has just run a marathon. He is worn out, spent. With mounting shame, he notices the wet spot on his blanket, wishing he could close his eyes and disappear.

He has come from a wet dream in his bed like a teenager. Worse, from a wet dream about Tony. That is not something that was supposed to happen, especially not since Steve decided to enforce some more distance between them again. They have not touched since that kiss and Steve has tried his best to keep his thoughts from wandering.

Worse, this is the bed he shared with Peggy and now he sullied it while thinking about someone else.

For a moment longer, Steve keeps lying there, pressing an arm over his eyes as he tries to reconcile that dream with his reality, with his feelings. Beneath the disgust and the shame, he cannot deny the last remnants of excitement sitting inside his bones. Those few blissful minutes between being asleep and regaining consciousness, he was truly alive. No worries, no battling with wrong desires, no responsibilities. It was just him and basic need.

Some part of him just wants to get back to that. He is tired of grieving, tired of being lonely. But even here, with those images still in his head, he knows this is the wrong way to remedy that.

Only the very real possibility of Peter coming into the room gets Steve moving. He keeps his eyes straight ahead as he climbs out of bed, avoiding to look down at himself, although that does not keep him from feeling the clammy spot at the front of his pyjama pants or the stickiness of his skin beneath. With mechanical movements, he strips his bed and gathers the blankets in a tight ball against his chest.

A hand on the door handle, he stops again and takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against the cool wood. Once he is through there, he is back in his real life, so he needs to ban the lingering thoughts of the dream to the farthest corner of his mind. He is Steve Rogers, Peggy’s husband and Peter’s father. This was just a fantasy. Now it is time to wake up.

* * *

Steve cannot get the dream out of his head, the way Tony’s phantom hand caressed him, how his skin kept burning long after he woke up. Lately, he is dreaming of Tony more often than of Peggy.

This cannot be happening. He should be better than this, should not fall for the first person smiling at him. Steve has his entire life, his family to think of, no time for idle fantasies.

He blames it on the chaos of his racing thoughts that his stomach flips when the doorbell rings and Tony is coming into view, smiling and altogether looking like none of this is wrong.

Peter is staying at one of his friend’s for the night – a fact that caused Bucky and Clint to look at each other meaningfully when Steve revealed he invited Tony for dinner that very day. He let their lascivious comments wash over him because he did not have the energy to arguing with them.

The thing is, he does not know what is happening. Or he does know, but not where it could possibly lead. They need a safe space to talk. Somewhere that is not in public.

All day, Steve has practiced what he could say, how to make sense of what is happening. The multitude of arguments boils down to only three, really. He has Peter to think of. He is still in love with his dead wife. He does not like men.

The moment he opens the door to let Tony in, all of that flees his mind as if he never thought to protest what is happening between them.

Tony holds up a paper bag as he enters and calls, “I brought dessert. There’s that patisserie that would turn me into a diabetic if I had a more regular eating schedule.”

Just like that, Steve is smiling and wonders why he has been so riled up all day. Tony is brilliant and funny and kind, and Steve has not the first idea why he would be interested in spending his time with Steve. Certainly not because he hopes for a romance with a broke single father. That is just in Steve’s head.

Despite his best resolutions, Steve stares as Tony shrugs off his jacket. He is not wearing a suit today, but Steve almost prefers him like this, laid back and natural in a way that business partners and the press do not get to see.

Dinner flies by and they never run out of topics to talk about. None of Steve’s friends are quiet. There are always conversations and jokes happening, but things are different with Tony. They do not know yet what the other will say, have not yet explored all their interests. If not for Steve’s confusion and conflicting thoughts, he would be glad he is making a new friend.

Later, they end up on the couch together, intent on watching a movie, sitting close enough that their shoulders could touch if they relaxed further into the cushions. The pastries Tony brought are stacked on a plate. They look heavenly and there are enough to feed Peter too.

It is so easy to laugh together, and when they turn to each other with bright smiles, Steve almost cannot believe this is real. Tony is so beautiful like this, unguarded and welcoming. Something is stuck inside Steve’s chest that makes his breath catch and pushes him closer. It is impossible to say who of them moves first, but before Steve knows what is happening, his hand is cupping Tony’s jaw as Tony is pulling him in by his shirt.

The kiss is as brilliant as their first. More so, even, because this time Steve’s body reacts with anticipation, with sheer _want_. Tony’s lips are soft and patient, whispering promises that Steve is not ready to listen to. It is so real that, for maybe the first time in years, Steve feels completely at home inside his own body.

That is when his brain wakes up and reminds him of why exactly this is a terrible idea. He jerks back, clenching his teeth even while his lips are still slightly parted. He must look a mess.

“I’m not gay,” Steve blurts, the words falling from his lips like drops of poison. The bitterness of them spreads through his body, making him ache.

Tony’s relaxed expression freezes slowly before it shatters into something strained. “You – what?”

There was probably a more diplomatic way to go about this, but now the truth is out between them and Steve decides to interpret the prickling in the back of his neck as relief instead of dread. He could not take this back if he wanted to, anyway.

“This isn’t – I don’t do _this_ ,” Steve says and hears how his horror sounds almost like disgust.

Before him, Tony’s face falls even more. The mask Steve has already come to recognise as a safeguard against people seeing when Tony is hurt is forming, making Steve want to reach out and ease it away.

“I hate to point out the obvious, but you just did,” Tony says with clipped precision. “And quite enthusiastically too.” He could twist his words to hurt so easily, and Steve is sure that, before the night is over, he will. If only he could close his eyes and disappear.

Instead of offering an explanation or an apology, Steve scoots back on the couch, bringing more distance between them. “I didn’t mean to,” he says and crosses his arms in front of him.

“Hey, Steve, it’s –” Tony interrupts himself, his tone brittle. Whatever he was going to say, _okay_ is not it. “I mean, I thought you wanted this too.”

A voice in the back of Steve’s head cries out that he does, and he immediately remembers the dream, the sinful beauty of it, the inherent satisfaction reverberating inside his bones. At least until he woke up.

“I’m not gay,” Steve repeats stubbornly, clinging to the one thing that makes sense. With effort, he pulls Peggy to the forefront of his mind, just so he does not have to see the hurt stitched in Tony’s features.

Tony’s back is very straight as he studies Steve, his hands hidden just out of sight. “I’m just not sure where this is coming from,” he says, softer than he looks, like he is still giving Steve chances. “These days it’s not a problem anymore to be –”

Steve knows what argument is coming, so he cuts Tony off, his voice harsher than intended. “I’m not homophobic.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “My best friend is gay.”

It has never bothered him that Bucky does not like women, even before the government stopped putting people into jail for that. That is just not him. He had Peggy, he has a life and a son. He cannot afford to over-complicate that just because he feels lonely and Tony Stark happens to be good at kissing.

That is all, he is sure. It has been such a long time since he was offered any intimacy that he jumped at the first offer.

Next to him, Tony shifts and Steve instinctively flinches away, expecting a blow. He would probably deserve one. When he looks up, though, Tony has stretched out his hand searchingly, and it hovers there between them for a moment before Tony lets it fall back to his side, his face at once heartbroken and very stiff.

“You’re glaring at me as if I’ve murdered a litter of puppies right in front of you,” Tony says, his attempt at humour falling flat. He curls his arm around himself. “I won’t touch you again.”

That sounds like a promise and something within Steve howls at that. He ignores it but keeps his head up. “Good. Because I’m not –”

“All right. You’re not gay,” Tony snaps, raising his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He stays like that for a long minute, looking dejected enough that it is now Steve who wants to reach out. Then, however, Tony gets to his feet, lacking some of his usual grace. “I will leave now, so your virtue is safe.”

For some reason, this surprises Steve, although the part of him that was more than fine with kissing Tony is laughing at him for it. What did he expect? That Tony would be all right with Steve basically playing games with him and storing him on a shelf somewhere when he is tired?

“What?” tumbles over Steve’s lips anyway, hurt even when he has no right to it. “You were only spending time with me because you wanted to have sex?”

Tony’s eyes widen with incredulity, and Steve knows he would not have reacted with even half as much calm were their roles reversed.

“No. I spent time with you because I like you,” Ton replies, his tone icy. His eyes still hold something tender, but the rest of him is rigid and unforgiving. “But I won’t stay when it’s such a hardship to be with me.”

If anything, Tony is too easy to be with. Otherwise, this might have never turned out as a problem. Steve has not felt this free or this light-hearted in years. His friends make him laugh and being with Peter fills his life with love, but Tony had broken the dreadful routine.

Deep down, Steve knows he cannot have both. He cannot lead on Tony – because there is no other word for kissing him one moment and pushing him away the next – and keep him, anyway. 

Did he think Tony would not mind and then go right back to talking about robots?

“Tony,” Steve tries, an incoherent apology pressing against his tongue. He should be relieved that they are no longer touching, that this misunderstanding is out of the way. Instead, he is just miserable.

“I’m not going to be a dirty secret,” Tony says, not waiting to hear whether Steve will ever find any words to offer him. “I know it’s daunting when people point, and I’m willing to shield you as best as I can, but if you can’t ever handle that, this isn’t going to work.”

Steve has never been good at keeping secrets. Or at keeping his mouth shut. “Not everybody is as openly debauched as you,” he says, full of resentment that he does not even mean for Tony. He is very thorough in ruining a good thing.

“What did you call me?” Tony asks, his tone as flat as his expression. Then he comes alive all at once. With a scoff, he backs away from the couch, throwing his arms in the air as if to say there is no saving this. “All right, I’m done,” he says, a sneer hidden behind the words. “You’ve got a lot of problems, Steve. I’m not going to be another one of them. Good bye.”

He turns around and heads for the door so abruptly that Steve feels like a part of him was ripped out and taken away.

“Tony, wait,” he calls, even though he still has nothing more to offer than his own fears.

“What for?” Tony demands. He merely glances over his shoulder and never stops walking. “I’m a person, not some inflatable doll you can hide in your closet once you’re done with it.”

Blood rushes into Steve’s cheeks at the thought. He pretends that means he is affronted instead of ashamed. “It’s not that easy.”

Finally, Tony stops, if only to look at Steve with grating derision. “Then find a solution or stop trying. Either way, I’m out.”

Then he is gone. Steve remains sitting on the couch, unable to move or even make sense of the utter chaos of feelings inside him, until he hears the front door slam shut. This is it. Whatever happy interlude finding Tony had been, it is over.

With effort, Steve pushes himself to his feet and picks up their glasses, intent on removing all evidence that he did not spend his night alone. Nobody needs to know, especially not Peter.

It is better this way. Steve really is not gay and it would have been unfair to let Tony believe otherwise for any longer. They were never going to work.

Steve has never enjoyed arguing with the people he cares for. That is why he feels like someone punched him in the stomach. He will be fine in the morning. This is what he wanted, after all.

He does not touch the pastries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt a little clumsy but I didn't want to make you wait. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent most of last week in the hospital and might have to go back next week. That's why I barely proof-read this chapter, so I apologize for any mistakes.

The next day, Steve expects people to say something. He goes running with Sam and meets Bucky for lunch, but neither of them comments on the dark shadows under his eyes or on him being rather monosyllabic. With Peter, he makes more of an effort, of course, but all of his smiles feel a little wooden.

He is being ridiculous, nothing else. A few meetings and he has already become accustomed to Tony being only a short text message away. Despite Steve pushing against this the entire time, he has become attached.

Still, he is sure he is simply disappointed in having lost a potential friend. It is his own fault, really, for not drawing clear lines, for not knowing himself what he wants. He does now.

“Why are you sad?” Peter’s voice rips Steve out of his musings.

They are sitting at the kitchen table together, where Peter is doing his homework and Steve is staring at a blank page. He should be working on the next comic pages. Instead, his mind keeps wandering, bringing him right back to Tony.

“I’m not sad,” Steve says nonetheless and puts on a smile for his son.

It is one thing to wish he would have ended things with Tony in a kinder way, but another altogether to let that affect the time he spends with Peter. He has one responsibility in his life, and he will not mess that up too.

“You’re not drawing anything,” Peter points out and taps on the too white page in front of Steve.

Peter is too perceptive by far, and too familiar with what sadness looks like on his father’s face. In these moments, Steve misses Peggy fiercely, not even for himself, but because no amount of love can completely cover up the cracks left behind within Peter by the death of his mother.

“And you’re not smiling,” Peter adds, more devastating than before.

Immediately, Steve pulls up the corners of his mouth, ignoring how waxen it feels. Neither of them is convinced by it.

“Sometimes I’m just not in the mood to draw,” Steve says, deciding to ignore Peter’s last comment.

What that means, of course, is that every attempt he has made resulted in the same, wrong features and hurt brown eyes. Steve has always drawn to cope, but he cannot litter their home with doodles of Tony Stark. He does not have any right. 

Staying true to his inquisitive nature, Peter asks, “Why?”

That way lies madness. Steve can hardly tell Peter that he kissed Tony, panicked, and threw him out. Just because the situation was wrong for Steve does not mean he wants for Peter to take away that finding someone to love is wrong in general. At the same time, he does not want Peter to think he almost replaced Peggy with the first willing body coming his way.

“I didn’t sleep very well,” Steve says. That, at least, is true. Because that will not satisfy Peter, however, he adds, “And I miss your mum.”

He almost regrets those words because, while they are true, they make Peter drop his eyes and fight hard to keep his smile on. Two years can mean an eternity for a boy his age, but it is not nearly enough time to get over the loss of a parent.

“I miss her too,” Peter admits in a small voice, still not looking up.

With great care, he puts down the pencil he was holding and gets to his feet, walking over to Steve. Small arms wrap around Steve and he moves instinctively to pick Peter up. This has never failed to make him feel better, and it does not fail now.

No matter the poor execution, at this moment, Steve is sure he has done the right thing. Tony is a great guy, but Peter is the most important person in Steve’s life. It does not matter that he is sometimes lonely or that Tony made him laugh in ways he has almost forgotten how to.

This is all he needs. His son and this life they built together. He misses Peggy, every single day, but he is happy.

“I love you, Peter,” Steve says, holding on tight.

“Love you too, Dad,” Peter answers immediately, making no move to let go.

Life is good, Steve decides. If the world gets too big, his own mother used to say, concentrate on what you know. Steve knows this, and he would not change it for anything.

* * *

In a way, it is Peter’s fault that Steve now sits in a pub with his friends, even though he wants nothing more than to curl up in his bed and try to catch up on sleep. One innocent comment about his dad being sad caused Bucky to orchestrate another sleepover for Peter so they could take Steve out.

Steve loves his friends, he really does. He just wishes they would stop meddling so much. If the situation was reversed, he would do the same. But. He does not need to be coddled, does not need their advice. The situation with Tony was one of his own doing and he can crawl out of it on his own too.

Everything went wrong so very quickly Steve is not even sure what to feel. Surely, he should be relieved. Tony was a distraction, a danger for the life he has built, pushing Steve away from who he really is. That does not explain the acute sense of loss he feels whenever he picks up his phone and does not see a new message from Tony, or when Peter plays with the chemistry set Tony brought him, or when he wakes up in his bed alone, wishing for someone to touch him.

This was never going to last anyway or so Steve tells himself. What would Tony Stark want from a broke single-father artist when he has the entire world open to him and wave after wave of beautiful people chasing him? Steve has nothing to offer, nothing but grief and crippling self-doubt.

Someone touches Steve’s arm, causing him to startle. When he looks up, all of his friends’ eyes are on him, varying from concerned to suspicious. Just what he needs.

“All right, Steve,” Bucky says, at once long-suffering and with a clear warning. “What is wrong?”

He is lonely, even surrounded by friends. That is not something he can just say, though, because he does not need anyone else in his life. It is just a momentary low. He will get over it.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Steve replies gruffly and reaches for his still untouched drink. He must have zoned out when they ordered because it is something frilly with too much sugar, hangover guaranteed. Definitely Clint’s doing.

“You haven’t been listening to a single word we said,” Bucky points out. Despite the slight accusation in his tone, his eyes shine with worry.

Steve straightens his back to look less like they dragged him in here and deposited him on a chair without hopes that he could support himself, and frowns.

“You were talking about setting Sam up with that woman from your gym.”

That has good chances of being right. Bucky and Clint are so sickeningly happy with each other that they have made it their mission to couple up all their friends so they can experience the same. Only Steve is busy with grief and Peter, and Natasha threatened to do them bodily harm if they ever nudged someone in her direction again. That leaves Sam, who is too kind to tell them off.

His friends keep looking at him very unimpressed. “She’s way too hot for him,” Clint argues with a huff, earning himself a blow to the side from Natasha.

“And that was at least fifteen minutes ago,” Bucky adds, bringing them back on track. “So, why are you moping?”

“I’m not moping,” Steve says as firmly as he can manage.

And he is not. He is just still processing everything that happened with Tony. Everything that did _not_ happen, too. It was such a break from his routine that it is no wonder he struggles now to regain his footing. A few good nights’ sleep and he will be all right. He knows he will. No use in mourning something that was never any good for him, anyway.

“Bullshit,” Clint interrupts his thoughts with cheerful sharpness. “You’ve barely said a word all night but are staring at this lovely blank wall instead.”

“I’m fine,” Steve replies. It is nice that they care, he just does not want to discuss this with them. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Does this have anything to do with Tony?” Natasha asks with the innocence of a circling shark.

She was the first to know something is wrong. Perhaps she has since the night Tony and Steve kissed for the first time. It is rather remarkable that she has not started meddling until now.

“Tony Stark?” Sam says curiously. He has been blissfully removed from the entire drama but must remember how Steve complained about Tony after the expo.

“They met several times over the past two weeks,” Natasha explains shortly, interrupting her scrutiny of Steve for barely a second.

They react to that like predators setting eyes on fresh prey. Even Sam perks up, ready to pounce on that new information.

“How do you even know that?” Steve asks, realising too late this is basically an admission of guilt. Besides, Natasha always knows things, almost like she can read minds or otherwise spends all her free time gathering information, hoping that it will become useful at some point.

Smugly, she answers, “Peter told me.”

While that makes sense, it does not calm Steve at all. He needs to have a talk with Peter about privacy, no matter that his friends are their family. Steve himself is not very adept at keeping his cards close to the chest, but he has learned some caution over the years.

Steve rubs his temple with dismay. “You were literally just half a minute alone with him.” When they picked him up earlier and he got his jacket. After that, until they delivered Peter right to Ned’s doorstep, Steve has been with them, hearing not even a whisper about Tony.

“It amazes me how you can still underestimate the amount of words he can pack into thirty seconds,” Bucky says, his lips pulled into a wide grin.

Just when Steve thinks he might have successfully dodged the topic, Sam clicks his tongue. “We’re digressing. What happened with Stark?”

The brief moment of light-heartedness is gone instantly. Steve wishes they were not so invested in each other’s lives, so they would take the hint and leave him to his misery. It will not last but is just a momentary low. A ridiculous one, considering he got exactly what he wanted. It just does not feel as liberating as he thought.

“Nothing happened with Tony,” Steve answers shortly. He reaches for his glass without drinking from it, giving his hands something to do. “We saw each other a few times and now we won’t anymore. End of story.”

And what a bumpy story that was. They have clashed so horribly before they even shared a smile, Steve is not even sure what he is grieving. The doubts? The misunderstandings?

“I thought you got along quite well,” Natasha says, still with that superficial innocence that means she is getting ready to strike. She has already made up her mind about Steve and Tony but does not allow them even a glimpse of what it is.

Clint leans forward, looking eager even if his lips are pressed in a sharp curve. “Do we need to plan a murder? You could have chosen someone less visible for that. But it will be fun.”

If it ever came to that, Steve has no doubt that they would kill for each other. They all know how, and they might even get away with it. Even Clint, despite his hot-headedness.

He does not want them to get any ideas about this situation, though, so he looks up at Clint sharply. “Tony did nothing wrong.” Much quieter, he adds, “We simply had a misunderstanding.”

The kind where Steve wants to preserve the tingling in his lips from kissing Tony, even while he would prefer them to never touch again.

“Oh,” Clint coos. “You have it bad.”

Steve should not be surprised. Clint and Bucky are so disgustingly in love that they cannot stop seeing romance wherever they look.

“Stop talking nonsense,” Steve snaps and takes a sip of his drink to avoid looking at his friends. They do not deserve his anger. He just wishes they would back off a little.

“Steve,” Bucky says, so gentle suddenly that the contrast startles Steve. “You know that it is all right to move on, yes? You don’t have to keep punishing yourself.”

They all look at him with varying degrees of sympathy. Of course, they would think this is about him still being stuck in grief. And they are not wrong. He _is_ still in love with Peggy, which is why a new relationship is out of the question. That has nothing to do with Tony specifically, however. That was just never meant to be anything at all.

“I’m not – That’s not what this is about,” Steve says, hearing himself that he does not sound very convincing. He shrugs. “We just wanted different things.”

He does not even know what he wanted. In retrospect, it is rather naïve that Tony would be willing to go for a simple friendship with some random guy from Brooklyn. He naturally wanted something out of Steve. The moment that thought arises, Steve is ashamed of himself. Tony never pushed him into anything, never even hinted at wanting anything from Steve other than them having a nice time together.

“You surely didn’t blow him off because he didn’t confess his eternal love for you already, right?” Bucky asks with just a hint of impatience.

They have it all wrong. It is so typical for them to think that Steve would not be up for a short booty call but wants an actual relationship. He has been like that most of his life, especially before he grew into his body and suddenly had the option of meaningless flings. 

And then he met Peggy and could not imagine life with anybody else. Nothing much has changed about that.

It still hurts to meet his friends’ eyes because he can clearly see their eagerness to fix him, even though there is no way of restoring what was lost.

Steve shakes his head, unsure that he can form actual words. Love has nothing to do with this.

“So, he doesn’t want you back?” Bucky asks, clear scepticism dripping from his tone.

There is no doubt that Tony was hoping for _something_. Still, Steve says, “Nobody wants anyone here. I’m not –” He trails off but points vaguely at where Bucky and Clint are sitting, their shoulders pressed against each other and their fingers loosely intertwined. They look happy together but Steve has been watching them with a bitter kind of jealousy ever since Peggy died.

Immediately, the atmosphere is cooling. Something in his tone was off, he heard that himself and it is no surprise that his friends did too.

“You’re not what?” Bucky asks, sounding slightly dangerous.

They never judged each other for anything. Certainly not for things that Steve sees as unproblematic. Yet, he went wrong here.

This is a hole nobody will help Steve out of. “You know I don’t have a problem with gay people,” he says, noticing too late this is making everything worse. “I’m just not gay myself.”

Natasha is glaring at him, and somehow worse, Sam’s face is dark with disappointment. He does not dare to look at Clint, afraid there will be murder in every angle of his body. Bucky is bad enough.

“Then why are you pining?” Bucky asks, making it clear this discussion is not yet over. Where he was relaxed before, he is now sitting too straight, infused with the kind of stillness that would have caused smarter men than Steve to run.

“I’m not pining, dammit,” Steve snaps, deciding to ignore the danger he is in for now. “He’s a nice guy, and I enjoyed spending time with him, but then we kissed and that’s just not what I wanted.”

No matter that the kiss is still haunting him, that he still sees the vivid images of that dream before him. It is clear his _body_ wants something. He is human, though, he should be able to listen to his brain.

“Because you’re not gay,” Bucky replies in a biting tone. His expression is flat and his glare hard. “And now everything is ruined because he dared to touch you and now you can’t stop thinking about him. Which is inherently wrong, of course.”

This conversation is wrong. Steve knew he should have never brought this up. Bucky acts as if Steve meant to attack his entire lifestyle just because he does not want to go out with another man.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies stiffly, knowing better than to hope this might save him.

True enough, the rigidness of Bucky’s posture and face does not give even a little. “If you’re sure about that.”

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, hoping he could be anywhere but here when he opens them again. “Bucky,” he says softly, almost a plea.

“What?” Bucky asks, sharp enough to cut. “I’m just trying to understand you convoluted thoughts here. I didn’t think you were such a hypocrite.”

“I’m not,” Steve protests, even though he has his doubts. This is not the first time he thought himself or his friends to be an exception to a rule. “There’s a difference between not being something and being against it.”

Bucky bristles, likely preparing to show Steve exactly why his logic is flawed. Before he can speak, however, Clint squeezes his hand, making a show out of it, even. Then he leans forward, not looking any more amused than his boyfriend.

“You know there’s such a thing as being bisexual,” Clint says, his tone conversational. For someone who is usually full of smiles, this stillness sends a message all of itself.

“I’m not –”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Steve,” Sam cuts him off, still looking disappointed in a way that hurts. “It doesn’t diminish what you had with Peggy. I obviously don’t know Tony. I don’t know whether you fit in with each other or whether you’re just busy blocking your own path. This isn’t about you being bi or not. This is about you having met someone and now pushing him away because of some inner conviction that what you’re thinking is wrong.”

The sheer mention of Peggy and Tony within the same breath feels like a punch to the stomach for Steve, no matter that the both of them play a prominent role in his thoughts right now. It is different when someone else pairs them together.

Feeling sick, Steve shakes his head, both in denial and to get rid of the wrongness of this conversation. He reaches for his drink again and drains it in one go.

“Are we done?” he then asks, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. He is definitely done, ready to fall into bed and never think about any of this again.

“I don’t know. Are we?” Clint asks, still sharp, still ready for a fight.

This is too much. Steve did not want to go out, but now that he is here he wanted to avoid thinking about Tony. Instead, everything has just become worse.

“Well,” he says and gets to his feet, clutching his jacket like a shield in front of him. “If you have nothing substantial to say.”

A voice in the back of his head yells at him to stop making things worse, but he is entirely too practiced at ignoring it.

They stare at each other for a long moment until the tension suddenly deflates.

“Sit your ass down, Steve,” Clint sighs and pushes Steve’s chair back out with his foot.

When Steve still hesitates, Bucky looks up. “You’re an idiot, but we love you. Sometimes you should just stop overthinking everything.”

Despite his reluctance, Steve sits back down. These are his friends, his family. He does not want a stupid comment to ruin that.

Things remain awkward the entire evening. It might be Steve’s imagination, but Bucky and Clint sit closer together than usual and lean over to kiss each other more often. The sight does not disturb him, but the part of his brain that keeps returning to the dream he had of Tony and that is still yearning for Tony’s lips immediately imagines sitting there with Tony.

Tony has beautiful hands and Steve can easily see himself holding them, tracing the calluses and little scars he noticed. Steve wonders how it would feel to have someone to lean on again.

He drowns these thoughts in alcohol and forces himself to follow the conversation this time. Later, he will apologise to Bucky and Clint, once his head is not hung up on telling him he made a mistake. It will all turn out right in the end.

The more he drinks, the less sense his resistance against Tony makes and the less capable he is of keeping his thoughts contained. He _misses_ Tony. Misses the excitement of having someone new and interesting in his life. Misses their conversation. Misses their kisses. He even misses the phantom feeling of the sex from his dream.

He was an idiot, a mean one at that. Throwing Tony out like that was nothing less than cruel.

Once Steve is home and away from his friends’ watchful eyes, he will apologise. That is the least he can do, no matter that his point still stands. Somewhat.  
Before that, however, he has to make right what he said to his friends. The way Natasha keeps looking at him, he knows he will not get out of here before she has not said her piece. He deserves it too.

* * *

The text arrives late at night. It is a simple, _I’m sorry for last week. Can we talk?_

As Tony stares down at the screen, he imagines Steve lying in bed, unable to sleep because he really regrets what happened. It is a fantasy, of course. It is far more likely that Steve went out with his friends, got drunk, and is now horny and alone. Alcohol takes care of reservations like not wanting to sleep with another man. It is as much a miracle worker as it is the safest bet to gather new regrets. Tony would know.

He does not reply. Part of him wants to. Steve is hot and kind. They could make a night together very enjoyable, especially if Steve drank his doubts away, but that is not what Tony wants. It would be the easiest thing in the world to find someone to have meaningless sex with. Steve was supposed to be different.

With some effort, he puts the phone down and turns around in his bed, intent on getting some sleep. Over the past days, he has been working basically nonstop, which is the surest way to clear his head of unwanted thoughts. Not that it was particularly successful this time. The moment he laid down, all the thoughts of _what_ _if_ were back.

Tony is still wondering where he went wrong. Perhaps they moved too fast, although it did not feel like he was rushing things or pushing Steve. Everything felt right when they did it. Which makes it even harder to return to reality.

It is such a horrible excuse of Steve to say he is not gay. It is entirely possible but, Tony would wager, also entirely wrong. Steve definitely has problems, but liking only one set of genitalia is probably not it. Well, Tony cannot do anything about it. It is not his place to try to fix people. Especially not since he cannot even fix himself.

His phone vibrates again, alerting him of another new message. Despite wanting to roll over immediately, Tony stays where he is. It will not do him any good to read what drunk Steve has to say. That way lies more heartbreak.

And he is heartbroken, in a sense. Tony’s life is lonely, despite the parties and business meetings and the press hounding him. He has Pepper and Happy, who are so often busy, and Rhodey, who is most of the time not even on the same continent as him. That is it.

It was a joy to listen to Steve talk about his friends, his family. An old yearning inside Tony was awakened by that, making him wish for someone to be waiting for him when he comes home, someone who is ready to come over after a simple short text.

Steve is a good person, Tony knows that deep in his heart, no matter how things ended between them, no matter that it hurts. The sheer love with which he treats Peter is enough for Tony to want to keep them both in his life. Even if Steve will never return Tony’s feelings, he feels like this could go a long way in healing the wounds of his own childhood.

The phone vibrates again. Wide awake, Tony sits up in bed. He does not want to read what Steve has to say. It will not make anything better, and in the morning they will both regret it. He still reaches out to pick up his phone, the slender model unusually heavy in his hands.

Another apology. And then, _I was wrong to throw you out like that. I just didn’t know_ –

Not even in writing does Steve manage to make his point clear.

_I was wrong,_ Steve writes again. That does not make his apology – if that is indeed what this is – more substantial.

Still, Tony’s fingers fly over the screen before can think better of it. _I thought you weren’t gay_ , he answers and swallows the sudden bitterness on his tongue. This is far from the first time he was rejected and yet he treats it like the world is coming to an end.

A few minutes pass. Perhaps Steve has passed out, or he is so surprised to have gotten an answer that it startled him back into sobriety, thus realising that writing Tony is a bad idea.

Since Tony has all but given up on sleep, at least until this matter is dealt with, he remains sitting and stares at his screen as if that could move Steve to reply faster.

_I don’t know what I am_ , Steve finally writes, _but I know I was unfair to you._

That is not the tearful apology and wish for a second chance that a part of Tony has been hoping for. This will not end well. Nothing Steve writes at this hour can be taken as the truth. In the morning, they will both regret this. Steve because he surely never meant to reach out, and Tony because this will not lead to what he wants.

_I can’t talk_ , Tony writes and puts the phone down in his lap. He is not quite ready to turn it off, but he should stop messaging back, so taking his hands off it is a good first step.

_That’s all right. Tell me when you have the time?_

Tony will certainly not do that. He can imagine how that goes. Perhaps Steve will have forgotten all about this brief conversation in the morning. Even if he does not, these things always look different in daylight. Regrets are always closer to the heart when it is dark outside.

With careful movements, Tony puts the phone down on his nightstand and pulls the blanket up to his chin. All of a sudden, he is cold. Cold and tired. 

Minutes go by in which he does not move. Then, another message.

_Please?_

Tony breathes. In and out. In and out. He thinks this is particularly unfair. Steve should grovel and apologise, not reach out and make Tony think that _this time_ things will be different.

He does not answer. It takes a lot out of him, but he leaves the phone where it is and lies back down, firmly turned away. If he does not sleep well that night, nobody has to know about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha will yell at Steve a bit more, and Bucky hasn't said everything he needed to say either. I was just a bit indisposed and had to keep this on the short side. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your get-well wishes. I am doing better (a bit) and will return to work tomorrow, so life's going on I guess ;-)
> 
> Enjoy!

The next morning, Tony gets up when it is still dark outside. He does not check his phone for more messages but leaves it there on his nightstand hoping to clear his head without it nearby.

Pepper, for one, will be glad he will be punctual for once. And there is always enough to do to distract him from the newest disaster that is his personal life.

By the time Tony sits in his office, the sun has barely risen, and when Pepper arrives, he has already made his way through half the paperwork on his desk. That alone warrants suspicion, but she lets it go with merely a frown that gets worse when Tony is on time for all his meetings and actually engages with what they are discussing. Pepper knows him, and she knows that work has always been his escape from the things he does not want to talk about.

In the afternoon, she finally corners Tony in his office. She sits down in the visitor chair and scrutinises him before she asks, “What happened?”

The insinuation has Tony snorting without humour. He always works a lot. Most of the time, he is holed up in his workshop and only comes up for air when he absolutely has to. The mundane tasks of leading a company are usually left for when he is too restless to create.

“Nothing happened,” Tony answers dismissively. He does not have to look up at Pepper to know her frown is deepening.

“Do you really need me to list the reasons why that is not true?” she asks pointedly and waits.

Knowing her, she actually has a list prepared in addition to having mapped his movement and calculated his caffeine intake. Pepper notices things. That is her job, and she is marvellous at it.

“No,” Tony says but adds nothing else. He is fine, just tired.

Pepper raises an eyebrow and waits. Silence and stillness are Tony’s greatest enemies. Without noise or action to distract him, he cannot contain his thoughts, cannot keep his mind from racing.

“Remember the guy I met at the expo? Steve?” he then blurts out, cursing himself for crumbling so easily under pressure.

“You’ve been seeing him, and he made you run around with a goofy smile, of course I remember.” Pepper’s tone grows soft, as if she already knows the end of this story. Tony does not want to deal with her pity.

“Well,” he continues flippantly, “kissing him pushed him into a gay panic and he threw me out. We’re done.”

It sounds stupid when put like that. Tony has garnered some bad press for being openly bisexual, but he has gotten bad press for nearly everything he does. Howard’s disapproval was more tangible, but he knew where to aim to really hurt Tony. People _want_ Tony, regardless of gender or orientation. He has been rejected for plenty of reasons, but this one hurts in a novel way.

“Did you –”

Tony closes his eyes briefly as he interrupts her. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” she argues but looks slightly chastised at the same time.

It does not matter what she was going to say. Everything always comes down to what he has done wrong. Either he was too much or engaged too little, too loud or too absent, too clingy or too blasé. Tony has heard the arguments a thousand times.

“You were asking whether I missed any sign that he was uncomfortable,” Tony says with a nonchalance he does not feel. “Whether I was pushing for something he didn’t want. Whether all I could see is that he is hot and didn’t care for anything but getting laid.”

It is no secret that Tony has been callous like that before. He spent years tumbling from one bed into the next, chasing any kind of excitement, and sometimes he pursued people who did not want anything from him. That never mattered much, really, because he could simply turn to the next willing person. He never had to push for anything.

Yet, people assume he will throw a tantrum when he does not get what he wants. Pepper should know he strives to fix things, not to force them. But here they are, discussing his faults once again.

Pepper clears her throat, but when he looks up, she does not appear apologetic. Instead, her frown has slipped into something sterner. “I was going to ask whether you’ve talked since then.”

That leaves Tony floored. Pepper is brilliant at navigating pitfalls, but the weight behind her words make him believe she means it. That this was really what she meant to ask before, without any veiled accusation at all.

“I –” Tony begins and trails off. Perhaps one part of not thinking everybody is ready to accuse him of something, is to not jump to conclusions.

“Contrary to you,” Pepper adds, sounding much gentler now, “I don’t always expect the worst of you.”

How can Tony not, though? That is how he was raised, being told that he could always do better, aim higher, show an excellence he never quite reached. He grew up on reading scathing articles about himself and navigating false friends.

“You should know better by now,” Tony says, staring hard at his hands. At the assortment of little scars he gathered there over the years.

“I know you,” Pepper answers firmly. He could hug her for that alone, that conviction he has never managed to gather.

“Well, we didn’t. Talk, I mean,” Tony says, changing the topic back to the marginally safer grounds of his and Steve’s failed relationship. “He sent some texts asking to, but I didn’t answer.”

He already berates himself for reacting at all. By now, Steve must regret his possibly drunken texts from the night before.

“Do you want to?” Pepper asks simply as if anything is ever about what Tony wants.

“I don’t see how that would solve anything.” Tony does not want to look at Pepper, does not want to see her admitting that he is right. Yet, when his eyes do fall on her, she just looks determined. To show her there is nothing to be done, he adds, “I kissed him and he panicked. That will always stand between us.”

Pepper wrinkles her nose. “You kissed me and Rhodey too.”

What a time to bring that up. Rhodey is woefully straight, too, and broke Tony’s heart in college. He was, of course, the one who repaired Tony’s heart enough that it could be broken at all, and their friendship never suffered from their drunken shenanigans. But Rhodey is the exception to a lot of things.

“But we were friends before that,” Tony points out, despite knowing that is not completely true. He hit on Pepper the moment she stepped first into his office and she set him straight right away. That did not keep him from pining until that ill-fated kiss years later. He has never had the best track record with the people he actually cares about.

Pepper leans back in her chair. “Did you just want sex or did you like spending time with him?”

Unbidden, a smile comes to Tony’s face. It quickly turns bitter but Pepper catches it nonetheless. Talking with Steve was so very easy. They laughed a lot. And from that first moment he saw Steve interact with Peter, he was filled with that doomed longing that accompanied him all of his childhood.

He very much enjoyed spending time with Steve, but part of that was intertwined with the excitement of that first kiss and the possibility of many more to come.

“Why not both?” Tony asks, sounding like a sullen boy.

Immediately, Pepper’s forehead creases again, although there is no mistaking the fondness in her voice when she chides him. “Tony.”

Suddenly tired of the conversation, Tony shrugs. “It does not matter.”

He has learned enough over the past years to not hang his hopes on inevitable disasters. While he likes Steve, he does not want to be an experiment, does not want to go into something, knowing it has an expiry date.

“You can make it matter,” Pepper says as if it is that easy As if he has not tried before.

Banning all thoughts of Steve to the back of his head, Tony straightens in his seat. “And here I thought you wanted me to get into less trouble.”

Pepper knows he wants to change the topic. Yet, she leans forward and briefly puts her hand on top of his. “I want you to be happy, and you don’t mope after people you don’t care about.”

He knows that, but there is nothing he can do when those people do not care about _him._ That way just lies more heartbreak.

Still, he smiles. “I love you, Pep.”

He will not reply to Steve’s texts, not while he is still sure they were sent drunkenly. If Steve meant them, he will surely follow up on them. Although it might be kinder on both of them if he did not.

It was, ostensibly, an apology, but it lacked any genuine emotion. Tony will not fall for that. He might be bad at picking up social cues but he likes to think the worst of his self-destructive days are over. Even people like him grow up at some point and stop believing in miracles.

What would Steve even want from him? He already has everything. A close-knit family, a son whom he adores, a job he loves. Tony has proven to be poison to all of these things, and he would not know a functional family if someone hit him in the face with it.

It is better to put this fling behind him and stop pondering _what if_ s. Those have never been for him. 

That night, however, when he comes back home, he has several new messages. Steve is apologising again, sounding much more honest about it. And then – then he sent two very innocuous texts. One is a snapshot of a doodle for the superhero comic. The other is a comment about him and Peter being stuck in traffic on their way home.

It almost feels like the ugly interlude of basically breaking up has never happened and Tony does not know what to do with that. He puts the phone down without answering, intent on sorting through his thoughts first and seeing where this leads. He does not believe in happy endings.

* * *

Tony never writes him back. At first, that is a relief because Steve never would have sent that text had he not been drunk and miserable that night, had his friends not talked him into thinking that, maybe, he could be allowed to go on. As the days pass, that slowly turns into disappointment with tingling resentment building up.

Steve knows his reaction was not okay, but he tried to apologise and Tony is simply ignoring him, without even an attempt at communication. It is almost like being back in middle school, where friendships were falling apart left and right. Not that Steve ever experienced that. Once he met Bucky, he clung to him with all he got. The same happened with their other friends. Only with Tony is Steve inclined to push, afraid of what might happen if he does not.

It is all right. Life goes on. He has more important things to put his energy into. Weeks pass, first slowly, then they are falling back into their former routine. Still, it should not surprise Steve that, despite his resolution, everything and everyone is intent of reminding him of Tony.

“Will Tony be here for my birthday?” Peter asks one evening after dinner.

He looks at Steve with wide eyes, at once hopeful and ready to be disappointed. Steve hates that Peter knows how to look that way. He should still have faith in this world and believe that everything will turn out right.

Careful not to sound too absolute, Steve says, “I’m not sure, bud.”

He is very sure, of course. Even if Tony and he were still talking, this is a family matter, and Tony probably has better things to do than to eat cake with the guy who threw him out and his friends.

“Why not?” Peter’s lips wobble as he pushes them out in a pout. Despite his admiration of Tony, he had taken the sudden lack of him in their lives fairly well. At least Steve thought so until now. “You’re the reason he’s not coming around anymore, right?”

The accusation hurts, mostly because there is an element of truth to it.

“Peter,” Steve says with a warning in his tone. “It’s not that easy.”

Peter kicks the leg of the table as he scowls at Steve. “Yes, it is,” he yells, his cheeks growing red. “He likes you and you like him. Mum wouldn’t mind you being happy. And you’re not happy without him.”

The words hit Steve like a punch, knocking the breath out of his chest. A long minute later, the pain hits too. He _is_ happy. Their family is big enough and they are full of love for each other. That he is missing his wife does not mean he cannot be happy. It definitely does not mean that he needs someone else to be happy.

Very calmly, Steve meets Peter’s eyes and sees the worry there but also the stubborn hurt. Perhaps Steve is not the only one lost in this world between the two of them. 

“Just because you want to talk to Tony about science and get neat gifts doesn’t mean that I need to want to be with him too,” Steve says, careful to keep his tone even. It would not do to show the simmering anger in his chest, mostly because Peter is not the reason for it. “Not everything is about you.”

Steve has given up a lot for this family, for Peter. He did not follow Peggy to work with the agency because they knew someone would need to be home – and preferably have a job with a lower mortality rate. Even now as an artist, he refuses job offers if they would take up too much time or force them to move and he does not want to upset and uproot Peter. For a long time, he was working three jobs to keep them fed and in their home. For months after Peggy’s death, the thought of Peter was the only thing getting Steve out of bed in the morning and that gave him enough energy to force smiles.

He does not blame Peter. It is his duty as a father to sacrifice certain things for the wellbeing of his son.

Peter straightens and leans back as if he needs to bring more distance between them. “Nothing is about me,” he says, voice growing louder again, and the words are like a dozen knifes directed right at Steve’s heart. “You barely let me go outside without someone watching. You don’t want me to go to the SI workshop anymore. You checked all of my friends and their parents before you let me visit them. You’re so afraid of me dying like Mum that you need to be in control of everything.”

Peter should not yell. That is the first thought Steve has, at least before the words register fully. Then he has to control himself not to snap back.

Of course, he is protective. He is all the blood family Peter has left. Likewise, Peter is all that Steve has left from that wonderful dream he expected his life would be. If he were to lose Peter too, he would never recover, Steve is certain of that.

But. He has never done anything that would jeopardise Peter’s ability to make friends, has never been so obvious about his fears that it would ruin Peter’s fun. Despite all of his instincts, he has not packed Peter into a thick blanket and kept him at his side at all times.

“That’s not –” he tries to intercept, but Peter is obviously not yet done.

“And you’re even more afraid of someone liking you back that you were so awful to Tony that he doesn’t want to come back anymore.” Peter’s face is bright red by now and his voice is tethering on becoming painfully shrill. This must have been eating at him for a while now.

“That’s enough,” Steve says, struggling to remain calm while he is rapidly unravelling inside. Here he thought he was being a good father, but Peter is simply suffering in his own way. “You don’t know what you’re saying and –”

“Let me guess, I’m grounded,” Peter snaps, voice grating. He pushes away from the table, making his empty plate clink with the force of the movement. “I don’t want a stupid birthday party, anyway.”

He whirls around and runs out of the room, not reacting when Steve calls his name. His hands are balled into fists, but just as he disappears from view, Steve can hear a small sniffle.

Everything in him pushes him to go after Peter, to soothe away his tears, to apologise. It would not help. They are both upset, and he is unsettled in a way that will make it harder to stay reasonable.

He will clear the table – and hopefully his mind – and go to Peter afterwards. His feet are heavy, though, too heavy for him to get up, so Steve remains sitting and simply pushes his plate to the side to drop his head into his arms. He needs a break.

* * *

For days, Peter’s words keep sitting with Steve. Perhaps he is too overbearing, but Peter never seemed to mind – or to notice – before. They are a family, a little chipped in places but full of love for each other, anyway.

Tony has nothing to do with that. He wants something from Steve that he cannot give. He cannot imagine giving anyone a part of him again, to take another risk.

Still, despite the short time his and Tony’s life touched, their parting has left a noticeable hole. Steve is not lonely per se, but parts of him are. Where Tony brought some excitement and new feelings and possibilities, Steve is now left to pace the confines of his well-trodden paths again.

He misses Tony, misses the way they made each other smile, misses not knowing what exactly the next day would bring. That is naturally no reason to call Tony and apologise for throwing him out, saying things have become too boring now, so perhaps they could try again. Everything he has done in this matter was selfish, but he likes to think he is not that bad.

Peter’s birthday is coming up and Steve cannot forget the disappointment clinging to his son’s shoulders, echoed somewhere deep inside him.

When Bucky calls to ask how to help with the birthday, Steve cannot get himself to formulate a single idea.

“He wants Tony there,” he says instead of discussing cake and presents. As soon as the words are out, he wishes he could take them back. He knows what Bucky will answer.

“You might have ruined that one,” Bucky says, voice distinctly colder. Steve’s bout of homophobia, no matter how unintentional, still sits rather sour between them. “But you can always call and ask.”

The mere idea has Steve’s throat going dry, even as his heart rate picks up. He wants to hear Tony’s voice. It is just that he will not like what Tony would likely say to him.

“He’d laugh in my face,” Steve mutters. He gets up from his desk, abandoning his notes since he realises this conversation will not be constructive in terms of planning for Peter’s birthday. While pacing has never actually helped him solve a sticky situation, he gets calmer as soon as he is moving.

“And you’d deserve it,” Bucky replies without even a hint of sympathy. Then he sighs, audibly collecting himself to offer some advice even though Steve might not deserve it. “Listen, punk, I’m not saying you should ask him if you only want him there as Peter’s birthday present. But you’re still moping, which leads me to think you want him there for other reasons too.”

The inner resistance Steve has become so familiar with over the past weeks rises immediately inside his chest. It is a lot weaker than expected, however, almost as if even the struggling parts of him have understood that he has made a mistake here.

“I don’t,” Steve protests anyway, but it sounds fake even to his own ears. He does not know what he wants anymore.

He wants to be wanted without feeling guilty about it. To enjoy something without regretting that Peggy is not there to share it with him.

“Steve, I don’t know what to tell you. You wouldn’t have brought this up if you weren’t already thinking about inviting Tony,” Bucky says, still exasperated but also gentle in a way he only is when he is completely serious. “You’re the realistic one of us. If you know something’s not going to happen or isn’t feasible, you move on. I don’t see any moving on from Tony.”

Because Steve does not know how. Logic has nothing to do with it. Logic dropped out of his life years ago, alongside his wife. 

“But it wouldn’t be right,” Steve says, almost a whine for how tired he has become of that argument himself.

It is not right that Peggy is gone either. Or that Steve is lonely despite being surrounded by friends.

“Why?” Bucky asks simply, although he should know how impossible a question that is.

Two reasons come immediately to his mind. Because Steve messed things up with Tony and because he is not sure how he would react if he saw Tony again, whether he could walk away a second time – because he is still not convinced he could do this without breaking everybody’s heart in the process.

Instead of voicing that, he remains silent, causing Bucky to sigh at the other end.

“You know my opinion, but the decision is yours,” Bucky says, at least sounding a bit sympathetic. “Just make it.”

They do not get any more actual planning for the birthday done because Steve’s thoughts keep slipping away from him, back to Tony. To his smile and the way he makes a room light up simply by entering it. To the way they laughed with each other. Even to that terrible dream and how promising Tony’s lips felt against his.

He has a problem. Which is not that he let Tony come close, as he is now slowly beginning to realize.

That night, after Peter has gone to bed, Steve sits in his own room and stares at his phone as if it could take the decision from him. He is being very stupid about this. With an abrupt movement, he reaches out to pick it up.

Here he is, agonizing about asking a question when the answer he will get is mostly already clear. Why would Tony come to Peter’s birthday, why expose himself to Steve and his problems again? Whether Steve will get the actual question over his lips matters mostly for his own peace of mind. He still owes Tony a proper apology, however, so that is what he will do.

He dials Tony’s number, his thumb hovering over the screen to end the call at a moment’s notice. It is a cowardly move, but the dial tone alone has his heartbeat racing. Each one marks the passing of an eternity, and yet no time at all has gone by when the click of the connection echoes like a firework.

“Steve,” Tony says, his voice is cool, detached even. All the times they talked to each other before, he has never sounded even remotely like this.

Steve associates Tony with life, with finding joy in the smallest things. It is wrong to hear him like that, and it hurts, even though he knows it is his own fault.

“I’m sorry for the late call,” Steve says, wondering whether he should not just dump his entire load of apologies on Tony right away. He is in no state to go about this smartly. Emotions have nothing to do with intelligence, anyway, so he should not try to process them in the same way.

“What do you want?” Tony asks shortly. That is the very question that has been plaguing Steve or weeks now. He has gotten at least a little closer to the answer.

“I –” Steve tries, then changes track in the middle of the sentence, unable to truly commit to it already. “Peter’s birthday is coming up.”

That is not how he was going to go about this, but now that it is out, he can use it to explain his thought process a bit. What little there is.

Tony mutters something that sounds like a curse. “Great, what is it?” he asks, sounding, impossibly, even more detached. “Do you need money? A venue? Something to impress all the other parents?”

The words do not register for a long moment. Steve is so caught up in the conflicting tug of war between wanting something and thinking he does not deserve it that Tony’s apparent change of topic leaves him lost. Until comprehension hits and he feels hot and cold at once, realising Tony must assume he has turned into one of the thousands of people just trying to use him for some personal gain.

“No, Tony, no,” Steve protests as steadily as he can while his mind is racing. “Peter, he – we want _you_.”

What a way to go and make everything worse. Steve is recovering entirely new talents of his.

“I’m sorry,” Tony drawls, the sound grating in Steve’s ear. More so, because it is deserved. “I’ve already reached my quota for jumping out of birthday cakes this year.”

Flustered, Steve cannot help but imagine that picture, but then he pushes down on that thought mercilessly.

“That’s not – listen, I know I handled all of this terribly.” Admitting that out loud is strangely cathartic. “You were right about everything you said. I’m afraid and I was using you, and nothing of it was fair to you. I blamed it all on Peggy, and then you kissed me and I was disgusted with myself for liking it.”

A nervous chuckle rises in his throat and Steve takes care to swallow it. Right now, laughing will not make anything better, even if it is directed at himself.

“I don’t even know where that comes from. Bucky and Clint have been together for years. We’ve basically always known that Bucky is gay and I never – it was never a problem until I was in that position myself.” With a shaky breath, Steve adds, “That’s not an excuse, but I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Silence falls between them, enough so that Steve fears Tony might have hung up. Then Tony exhales loudly, causing Steve’s heart rate to pick up.

“You think that’s enough to have me running back to you? _Hey, I’m sorry I’m a homophobic idiot, we all right now?_ ” Tony asks, a hint of bitterness hanging between them.

Again, some token protest comes to Steve’s mind that he is not a homophobe, but he is steadily running out of denial.

“No. I owe you more than this one apology, and I’m not asking you to give me another chance,” Steve says, even though it leaves him exhausted, almost like he is willingly giving up on this. “Peter asked whether you were coming to his birthday. We argued and he told me some ugly truths. The same ones several other people have told me already but that I never wanted to believe. I’m sorry you became collateral damage of my issues. You deserve better than that.”

All of his life, Steve prided himself on being a good person, on going out of his way to help others. At some point, he strayed from that path, ignoring all _Keep Off The Grass_ signs to plant himself down directly in the green sea of denial.

How is he to go on from here? To do better going forward is one thing. He wants to repair this too, however, fit the jagged pieces together and forget he broke it in the first place.

“You don’t want another chance then?” Tony’s voice is still cool, but beneath that Steve catches the hint of an emotion echoed inside his chest. Disappointment, perhaps, or longing. He is certainly only projecting.

“I don’t feel I have the right to,” Steve says, surprisingly calm despite the way his throat constricts with the barest hint of hope.

Still with that same detachedness, Tony says, “That wasn’t my question.”

Steve’s heart misses a beat before it starts racing faster than before. “Yes, I would like to get another chance,” bursts out of him, sudden conviction churning in his stomach. “I’m not perfect, far from it, and I can’t even promise I won’t hurt you again, but I like you and I liked spending time with you. But I’m terrified of it.”

“Because I’m a man,” Tony states flatly, showing no sign of what he is thinking, only that Steve is far from being forgiven.

“Yes, but also because you’re _you_.” Thinking about this matter has not brought Steve much luck, since it seems to draw only from the worst parts of him. So he decides to simply open his mouth and wait for what is coming out. “You’re brilliant and kind and – I don’t deserve to have you in my life but I want to.”

Is that it? Could it be that simple? His life was much brighter during the few weeks Tony was in it and Steve wants that back. He is just not sure whether he can simply separate that from his fears.

“I don’t know whether I can believe you,” Tony says quietly. Suddenly, he does not sound so forbidding anymore, not so strong, but just as lost as Steve is.

Hearing the impact this has on Tony is what helps Steve calm down. They are both in this. Steve might have made all the mistakes, but he is not alone, not if he does not keep pushing.

“That makes sense. But I needed you to know it anyway,” Steve says and, for the moment, it really is as simple as that. No matter what happens now, he could not have let Tony go without an apology.

The following silence is much shorter than the ones before, but it also feels more final. Steve almost holds his breath as he waits for Tony’s reaction but chides himself to stop being silly.

Whatever happens now, it is his doing. He hid himself away and built a wall around his life. He enticed Tony to come closer only to slam all doors shut at the last moment. Steve knows grief intimately. This waiting is a little like that.

“Send me the time and date,” Tony then says, his tone more suited for business, leaving behind all signs of the nervous tremble from before. 

The sudden change leaves Steve’s head spinning. “What?”

“Peter’s birthday,” Tony reminds him gently. “I’m coming.”

The world goes very still. Steve’s heartbeat slows and his thoughts stop. Has he heard that right? But - “Why – I mean-”

“Listen, Steve,” Tony cuts him off, and the hard undertone in his voice is back. “I obviously like you too. It feels like you used me like a chew toy and abandoned me when you grew tired and that hurt, but I didn’t –” He inhales audibly and Steve holds that breath with him for a long second. “I don’t like you because of your stellar social competency. I like you because you are so protective of Peter, because you so obviously love him. The rest came later.”

Right now, Steve does not think he has any redeeming qualities. Even his obvious love for Peter is apparently flawed and too smothering. Why would Tony subjugate himself to that again instead of counting his blessings that he got away before he was in even deeper?

“What does that mean?” Steve asks quietly, calmer than he feels, even though he is afraid of the answer. The same way Tony was afraid Steve only invited him for Peter, Steve now worries that this is not about him at all.

“It means I’m coming to the party,” Tony replies firmly, making Steve flinch. “And we’ll see about the rest later.”

That is not a rejection, no matter that it leaves something hollow inside him. Steve figures that is the best he will get. Frankly, it is better than he deserves.

“Thank you, Tony,” he says and bites his tongue to leave it at that. The more he says now, the greater are the chances that he ruins things, after all.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Tony sounds strangely amused and Steve can see his smile as if Tony were right in front of him. “Pep is prepared to kick your ass if you ever break my heart again.”

_Break his heart_ , Steve echoes silently and swallows carefully when his throat constricts. His own heart has been damaged for years and he never bothered to put any work in fixing it, too afraid of the pain. Now he has to hear that he did that to Tony.

“I would let her,” Steve says, desperate not to let out that hollowness filling him. Using jokes to deflect is not exactly a virtue, but it is better than lashing out, however accidentally.

With the utter certainty of someone who has seen Pepper Potts reduce powerful men to nothing, Tony says, “You couldn’t stop her if you tried.”

Steve does not doubt that she could – or that Tony would watch from the side lines, cheering her on.

“Good night, Tony,” Steve says, hoping to end this call on a good note, to take this momentary lightness with him into the coming night.

“Good night, Steve. And tell the little rascal he’s not getting his own lab.” Tony sounds like he is smiling. Not hesitant but the real thing.

Steve imagines that and he promises, “I will.”

Something has settled inside him by the time he puts down the phone on his nightstand and is ready for bed. The restlessness of the past weeks has mellowed into something far more manageable. He is still nervous, still wondering whether he has done the right thing, but mixed in with that is anticipation now.

Before Steve goes to bed, he looks in on Peter. Not to tell the good news, he wants to keep that for himself for tonight to taste his own tentative happiness a while longer. Peter is asleep and does not stir when Steve tucks the blanket around his shoulders.

When he slips under his own covers, he closes his eyes with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter, for once. Enjoy!

Tony is late. The appointed time comes and goes with no sign of him. No message, no phone call. The flat is loud and busy enough that Steve should not notice. Yet, in between Peter’s happiness at being in the middle of everyone’s attention, and his friends acting no better than children too, Steve still finds the time to watch the seconds tick by, staring at the door as if he could make Tony magically appear.

They have not talked again since Tony agreed to come. While they sent a few texts, it never evolved into an actual conversation. Steve is ridiculously afraid of saying the wrong thing, even while he knows that saying nothing might be worse, still.

His friends are all gathered in the living room. Bucky and Clint are sitting half on top of each other on the couch, always touching, while Natasha is sprawled against Clint’s side. She occasionally reaches out to whack him if they move around too much. Sam and Steve are across from them, while Peter sits cross-legged on the floor, telling some story from school. Steve feels like a bad father for not listening more intently.

When the doorbell finally rings, it barely registers for a long moment. Not until Peter jumps up and runs to the door and an expectant silence settles over the room. His friends share a look that Steve does not care to interpret.

He does not move. He should. It is unfair to invite Tony, to throw him into this situation without at least greeting him at the door to give him a warning. And a hug. What if Tony only came for Peter? What if he acts like nothing ever happened between them?

Then there is no more time for worrying because they hear Peter yell, “Tony,” sounding happier than he was to see any of them. And Tony’s voice answers, low enough that Steve cannot make out any words. But Tony is here. He is here and Steve cannot hide any longer.

“I haven’t been greeted with that much enthusiasm in years,” Clint grumbles good-naturedly as they all look at the door, waiting for Peter and Tony to come in from the hall.

“Try ever,” Sam corrects teasingly. He is sitting in an armchair, as far away from Bucky and Clint as possible to not get in the crossfire if they either start wrestling each other without warning or decide to be overly affectionate for a basically public setting. They learned that lesson the hard way. “That’s because you only every bring your mangy dog instead of shiny tech things.”

“Excuse you.” Clint’s outrage is exaggerated as he gasps. “I also bring pizza.” Too much of it, too, which was all right before Steve had a child he needed to provide a proper diet for.

“Peter’s too young to appreciate pizza,” Sam says wisely, even while he glances at Steve with a somewhat worried look. Steve shakes his head minutely. He appreciates their attempt to distract him, but staring at the door takes all his energy for now. “Kids that age take all that soggy cheese for granted.”

With a huff, Clint crosses his arms. “Are you done insulting my pizza now?” he asks, pushing his lips into a pout. “Just wait and see whether I’ll ever bring you pizza again.”

Even well into adulthood, Clint’s meals consist mostly of greasy takeout. How he manages to stay fit despite that is a mystery to all of them.

“Bucky will share,” Sam replies with too much confidence for someone who, despite being perhaps the sanest person in their entire group, keeps bickering with Bucky without pause.

“Not if he ever wants to sleep in our bed again,” Clint says, not seeing the thumbs up Bucky gives Sam.

His grin growing, Bucky taps his prosthetic fingers against Clint’s leg. “As if you could deny yourself this brilliance.”

Clint’s face does a comically change from outraged to flirty, but before he can say anything, Natasha straightens.

“Hush now,” she cautions, “we’ve got incoming.”

Panic rises in Steve’s stomach. This is it. He really should have gotten up and warned Tony that a group of utter madmen is waiting for him in the living room. He really should have gotten up and greeted Tony. Period. It is too late now.

Before he can take another proper breath, Peter appears, all but dragging Tony in by his hand. He is still talking a mile a minute, but all that Steve can concentrate on is Tony’s face.

He looks tired if only in a subtle way. His smile is a little too bright and his hair a little too wild. When he comes to a standstill in the open door, his back is too straight. Confusion is visible for only the fraction of a second as he takes in the gathered group in the living room. Then he catches himself, his eyes gliding smoothly over all of them, touching Steve only briefly, before settling back on Peter. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” Peter rambles, not paying them any mind. “Because Dad said I shouldn’t be disappointed if you didn’t, and he only does that if he really thinks something’s not going to happen.”

He leans back against Tony as if to make sure he is actually there and looks conflicted for a moment, almost like he would prefer to push Tony back out again and take him to his own room so he does not have to share him with anyone else.

“As if I would miss your big day, underoos,” Tony replies with just the right amount of conviction. As if there was never any doubt he would come here, as if Steve had not almost messed that up.

“Ooh, nicknames,” Clint calls and extricates himself from Bucky’s hold with more enthusiasm than elegance to get up. “When did that happen?”

When Peter looks at him, his face is partly annoyed but also partly happy to be asked something about Tony.

“Tony says I can build better things while I’m at home in my pyjamas than all the people in his lab,” he announces with open pride in his voice.

“Well, that shows he knows something at least,” Clint says with a smile that is just a little sharp at the edges. Peter would not notice, but it is not meant for him.

For all his faults, Clint is as loyal as they come, and he will always rise up to keep his family safe.

“Tony knows everything,” Peter argues and stays firmly at Tony’s side.

“I’ll take your word for it, Petey,” Clint says before turning his attention firmly on Tony and offers his hand. “I’m Clint Barton, Bucky’s more handsome half.”

Steve still cannot bring himself to move, certain that he will do something wrong. So he watches as Tony looks Clint up and down and takes a long minute before he takes the proffered hand.

“If I remember correctly, Bucky’s the one with the cool metal arm, so I’m not sure I can agree,” Tony then replies, as smoothly as if he navigates sticky situations all day while being assessed and prodded from all sides. Knowing the business world, he likely does. “Tony.”

“You’re sassy,” Clint says, his face brightening. “I like you.”

Bucky moves with much more grace than Clint, but once they stand next to each other, they create an unsurmountable wall, covering each other’s weak spots without thinking.

“Don’t believe a single word this idiot says,” Bucky says before shaking Tony’s hand too. “He thinks pizza is at the top of the food pyramid.”

Tony’s face twitches into a grin and that is what finally allows Steve to breathe normally again. This could so easily turn into disaster. His friends banding together against the newcomer in an attempt to protect Steve. Tony realising that coming here was a terrible idea. Things go a lot smoother than Steve expected. But he has not yet gotten up himself, so there is still time for everything to go sideways.

“That’s clearly wrong,” Tony nods with a comically pointed frown. “Everybody knows that’s cheeseburgers.”

A very brief silence falls before Clint repeats _cheeseburgers_ and starts cackling.

Bucky first stares at Clint with pained fondness before moving on to Tony with concern. “How did Steve find another mad one?”

“Well,” Sam drawls as he gets up too and shoves Clint out of the way. “It started with you and never got better.” As he turns to Tony, his entire demeanour becomes charming, an effect that is only partly ruined by the utter madness around them. “I’m Sam. I must have done something terrible in a past life because I can’t seem to get rid of these idiots.”

If Steve had not been staring at Tony’s face, he might have missed the brief second of him looking completely overwhelmed. He feels like an idiot, throwing Tony into the midst of his friends without warning and without having his back. Before he can interject, however, Tony has recovered.

“I’m sure my friends say the same about me, so I’m not sure I will be of much help to you,” Tony says, no real regret in his voice.

“Pity,” Sam drawls as he steps to the side to let Tony further into the room. “Then again, Steve needs someone to keep him from being so serious all the time.”

As if the mention of his name has flipped a switch, Tony looks at Steve now. Really looks. Not that almost dismissive glance from when he entered the room. Immediately, it is as if it is only the two of them in the room.

Tony rests a hand on Peter’s shoulder, who is watching all of them with a mixture of happiness and jealousy at having to share Tony with them.

“Why don’t you go get your present form the hall, underoos,” Tony says, still looking at Steve. “And I’ll get myself something to drink.”

Several unopened bottles of various drinks are waiting on the table, but the implications are clear. They need to talk and they need to do so in private.

Steve shoots to his feet almost quick enough to make him dizzy. That might be because of the company, of course.

“I’ll show you what we have.”

With a terse nod, Tony follows him out the room and into the kitchen. Only moments after they are out of the room, conversation picks up behind them, a tad too loud to not be forced. Tony closes the door behind him and engulfs them in silence.

This is it. Steve will have to get a grip on himself and talk. For some reason, Tony has given him a second chance, even after Steve was so terrible to him. And now Tony is right here, in his kitchen, looking tired where, before, he was all smiles.

Right, talking. That should not be so hard.

“What am I doing here, Steve?” Tony asks, and his voice alone is enough to erase all thoughts from Steve’s mind.

“It’s Peter’s birthday,” Steve says, picking at the hem of his shirt. “I thought we –”

“You told me this would be a small affair,” Tony interrupts him, not quite harshly, but definitely not amused either. “Just family. That the party for the friends would be later.”

Despite the almost visceral need to smooth things over with Tony, Steve feels protectiveness rising inside him. “This is just family.” The kitchen is on the small side, and yet it is like there are miles between them. “If you don’t want to stay –” Steve trails off uncomfortably, unable to meet Tony’s eyes. He has made a right mess of this again.

“What? You want me to go out there and tell Peter that I changed my mind and don’t actually want to spend his birthday with him?” Tony does not sound upset as much as exhausted. “It’s just – What are you doing, parading me in front of your friends like that without warning? What do they say about you inviting a stranger to your son’s family-only birthday party?”

That hurts more than it should. Not even the accusation, but that Tony thinks he has really had that little impact on Steve’s life.

“You’re not a stranger,” Steve argues and finally feels like he is finding his footing. He was convinced Tony does not want to be here because of him. But this, this he can work with.

“I am to them,” Tony says, crossing his arms in front of him. “And what if I never show up again? They’ll just let that go?”

The very thought makes Steve’s stomach churn. Peter’s birthday was the perfect excuse to get Tony back here, to keep him from leaving, although it might be kinder to let him go now.

“Are you never going to come here again?” Steve asks, barely holding himself back from stepping closer to Tony. He does not want to crowd him, but this distance between them is eating Steve alive.

Tony’s expression darkens. “That’s not what this is about.”

What else would it be about? Does Tony still assume Steve invited him just to get a nice present for Peter or to gain something else from having a billionaire in his home? Steve knows he has trouble communicating what he wants, but surely he has not failed that much.

“Yes it is,” Steve says, calmer than he feels. “I asked you to come because Peter and I wanted you here. It was as good as time as any for you to meet my friends.” Well, that came out wrong, so Steve backtracks quickly. “I should have warned you they would be here.”

It looks as if Tony never even noticed his blunder. His eyes never even twitch from Steve. “You _and_ Peter?”

The next time Sam tells Steve he is terrible at saying what he wants and thinks, he will not argue because this is the ultimate proof.

“Yes, Tony,” Steve says, not bothering to hide the desperation creeping into his tone. He does take that step forward now, although he keeps enough distance between them to not tempt himself to reach out. “I’ve handled all of this terrible, but I want to make up for it.”

If possible, Tony’s arms tighten around himself, if only for a moment. “What about me being a man?” he asks, almost toneless, like he is not interested in the answer at all.

Steve nods in the direction of the hall. His friends’ voices are muffled through the wood. “I’ve been whacked over the head several times and been told that it doesn’t matter.”

Apparently not satisfied with that, Tony’s expression remains hard. “That’s not the same as believing it.” Much quieter, he adds, “And it matters to me.”

Just like that, Steve’s heart breaks a little more. It is as if he is just unable to find the right words when he is with Tony. Their conversations flowed so easily in the beginning, but as soon as Steve tries to turn on his brain, everything falls apart.

“I’m sorry,” he says, guessing he will apologise a lot more. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

What to answer, though? Does it matter that Tony is a man? Kissing him was heavenly, and that dream filled him with unexpected bliss, at least until he was fully awake. Simply _being_ with Tony made him happy. Looking back, he is not so sure anymore whether his reservations really originated from Tony being a man instead of him entering a territory formerly reserved for just Steve and Peggy.

“I’m afraid. Of this. For a hundred different reasons,” Steve finally says, needing to get the words out before Tony loses his patience. “It wasn’t fair to project that on you, but I can’t just turn it off either.”

Tony studies him intently. It is as if he is looking right into Steve’s soul. Then, almost agonisingly slow, he lets his arms fall to his sides.

“Okay, I’ll take a coffee,” Tony says, still not looking exactly happy but less like he expects to be stabbed in the back. “I’ve been up all night and I will need the energy to keep up with that bunch out there.”

Relief spreads through Steve’s chest that he does not yet dare show on his face. “You’re staying?”

Instead of a smile, Tony just gives him a measured nod. “I said I will. We still need to talk, but lets not ruin Peter’s day because of it.”

Steve should just take it and make sure he is ready for the next time they find themselves alone. He should be happy to get this much, at least.

Instead, he asks, “You think it will end in ruin?”

So much has broken over the past years, so much that Steve has no idea how to repair. This was his chance to change that.

“That depends on our answers, right?” Tony replies, sounding as vulnerable as Steve feels.

So, nothing is set in stone, then. This could still go either way. Steve has had a hard time staying optimistic for a while now, but when he looks at Tony, he cannot help but smile. He still has a chance.

* * *

Peter is long asleep by the time things die down. Despite having insinuated that he is only staying for Peter’s sake, Tony finds he does not want to get up from the couch and go back to his lonely penthouse.

Steve’s friends are a lot. Loud and unrestrained, full on inappropriate jokes and the kind of joy of living that is hard won. At first, Tony expects to be excluded, if not perhaps consciously. But no matter how many old jokes they share, Tony is pulled into their whirlwind without question.

Bucky and Clint are very much in love, while Bucky and Sam have some friendly rivalry going that leads to some ingenious barbs. While Steve plays mediator to _keep things civilised_ , it is Natasha who can get all of them back in line with a single word. Sometimes without even that.

For the first few hours, Tony is conscious of every little things he does. What he says, how he moves. He sticks close to Peter’s side and then to Steve’s, but it does not feel like he has never met any of these people before today. The topic of a possible relationship with Steve never comes up. Tony cannot be sure what Steve told them, but they are either very careful not to put any pressure on them, or they assume he is just another friend.

Above all, Tony is glad nobody treats him like a billionaire trespassing in their home. They have to know who he is. Bucky is wearing one of SI’s prosthetics, and while Peter never uses his last name, he brags about Tony’s apparent knowledge and his company without pause. It is refreshing to be just Tony for a night.

Natasha is the one to announce the night is over. She pushes Clint’s sleeping form off her shoulder and then collects Bucky and Sam, pulling them along with her. They leave the chaos and Clint behind, but nobody acts like this is out of the ordinary. Despite being exhausted, Tony is sad that things are coming to an end.

This is what it was like, those first meetings with Steve. Genuine and easy. No expectations except for where Tony _wanted_ them to go at some point. Now that they are alone again, he is afraid things will turn complicated soon enough.

Tony is collecting plates and empty bottles from the couch table and brings them to the kitchen where Steve is already at the sink, elbow-deep in dishwater. The sight has Tony’s stomach somersaulting. Such a domestic thing, taking care of the dishes together.

Without a word, Tony reaches for a towel and picks up the first plate to dry. They will need to talk soon, perhaps even tonight if Steve does not throw him out. For now, though, it is nice to just stand next to Steve, working hand in hand.

A particularly loud snore from the living room interrupts their companionable silence. Angling his head, Tony tries to catch a glimpse of Clint without leaving Steve’s side.

“Should we be afraid that he will choke out there?” Tony asks, curious that nobody seemed very surprised by Clint basically passing out on the couch.

They have not drunk that much, considering that this was Peter’s birthday, but after Peter went to bed, Natasha produced a bottle from somewhere and things became somehow even more rambunctious.

“No,” Steve says with a wry smile. “Clint can hold his liquor, but he’s even more of a maniac when drunk, so it’s easier to just let him sleep it off instead of trying to get him home.” A fondness colours his tone that just reinforces his words from earlier. They really are a family. “Bucky will collect him in the morning.”

“It’s a strange bunch, your friends.” Too late, Tony thinks Steve might take this the wrong way. He really enjoyed himself tonight, but most people do not take it as a compliment to be considered different.

But Steve’s smile only widens. “Yeah, they’re the best.” With just the hint of a frown, he looks at Tony. “I hope they weren’t too much for you?”

Tony quickly shakes his head. “Not at all.” No matter what else comes from this evening, he does not want Steve to worry that he did not enjoy himself. “It was a nice change from having to deal with suits all day. Reminds me of college.”

He never had a group of friends this large, of course, but he had Rhodey. Their friendship is just as precious and just as close as he could observe between Steve and his friends.

“It’s funny, except for Bucky we all met after college,” Steve says, almost apologetic as if they should have outlived their craziness by that point.

Tony watches him. He does not want to bring the mood down, and yet he says, “Strangely enough, I think that, to be so full of abandon, you need to know what it means to lose.”

Their cheer seems hard won. It does not come from them believing themselves to be invincible but from having dangled over the abyss one too many times.

In response, Steve hums but keeps his eyes on his work. He finishes washing the glass he is holding before setting it gently down and taking the towel out of Tony’s hands.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, standing too close and sounding too earnest.

Despite his best intentions, Tony’s heart flutters. Already, he is drawn in by Steve again. He wanted to take this slow, to observe and make a rational decision. But he knows, without doubt, that if Steve asked him right now to stay, he would.

“I had a good time,” Tony replies, swallowing carefully around the sudden lump in his throat.

Steve nods. His face brightens, if only a bit. “Do you want to – I mean if you’re tired –” He trails off, leaves Tony at a loss.

This is not exactly an invitation to stay, but Tony decides to interpret it as one. He knows by now that Steve is lost too. That does not make the rejection hurt any less, but it puts them, if not in the same boat, at least in the same sea.

“I could do with a night cap,” Tony says. He came here to make peace, so there is no reason to bow out now.

Steve’s smile is glowing with relief. “I’ll make us hot chocolate,” he says, already turning to a cupboard, filled with new energy.

“I was hoping for something with more caffeine,” Tony says dryly. “Or more alcohol.” Despite that, he is already moving over to the table to sit down.

“That’s not good for you, this late,” Steve chides, throwing a stern look over his shoulder while he reaches blindly for the milk.

“All right, mum.” Hot chocolate reminds him of Jarvis. It is what they had when Tony could not sleep or was upset about Howard. It fits, strangely. And it makes this entire scene even more domestic. They have not yet cleared up all the chaos, but Steve seems to have decided to leave the rest for the morning. That is all right. Tony is not so afraid of the conversation they need to have anymore.

“You won’t regret it,” Steve says as if he still needs to convince Tony. He has chocolate in his hands that breaks with a loud snap in his fingers before he puts it in a small pot on the stove. “This is Nat’s special recipe. She only gave it to me because of Peter.”

“And you’re sure there’s no alcohol in there?” Tony asks with a grin. The vodka Natasha brought had a kick to it, and still, out of all of them she behaved the most sober when she left with Bucky and Sam.

Steve only hums in response and concentrates on his task. He turns on the stove, stirs in the milk with the chocolate, and watches the pot with utter concentration on his face. For now, Tony is happy just watching him. Steve’s attention on him is a golden thing. Or it was, before the doubts settled in. This, now, allows Tony to watch him unashamed, to train every little line on his face.

Steve is beautiful. Objectively, Tony already knew that, but he is now seeing a side of him he did not have a chance to before.

Before too long, Steve nods at the pot. “Almost done,” he says as if he expects Tony to be impatient.

Tony gets up and takes two mugs out, which he puts next to the stove. He stays where he is, standing close to Steve, and breathes in the soothing scent of hot milk and chocolate.

It is nice, companionable. At least until Steve looks up and Tony sees that the worry is back on his face.

“Is it all right with you if we stay here?” he asks and points at the kitchen table. “Clint’s snoring is deafening.”

The thought of having a serious conversation about their future next to a snoring drunk is not without appeal, causing Tony’s lips to pull into a small grin. At least they would have someone to fill in all the awkward silences.

“Don’t see where else we can go if you don’t want to invite me into your bedroom right away,” Tony quips, only to grow still immediately afterward. He cannot imagine Steve reacting well to this kind of joke. When he looks up, though, Steve does not look put out, but his face is flushing adorably. “I’m sorry. That was too soon.”

Although _too soon_ implies that there will be a right time later and Tony does not dare to be too optimistic yet.

“No,” Steve protests quickly, clinging to the spoon he used for stirring as if to keep himself to reach out for Tony - or push him away. “No. It’s just that I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” At least, he does not sound entirely averse to the idea.

“But you thought in that direction?” Tony has to ask. He likes Steve, he even likes his friends, and he adores Peter. He would not mind a friendship with them, even though a part of him – the stupid part that never learns – is still hoping for more.

“Yes,” Steve replies without hesitation, meeting Tony’s eyes as if to underline his point. “It’s just –”

Here he trails off again. Instead of jumping to conclusions, Tony waits. He knows he has a habit of putting his doubts and fears in other people’s mouths. It would be nice not to mess things up that way for once.

With overly pointed movements, Steve turns off the stove and picks up the pot. He flashes a quick smile at Tony when he pushes the two mugs over. They stay silent until they are both seated at the table, hands around their mugs and thoughts racing. Even then, Steve needs long minutes to compose himself to speak. Tony waits. He does not want to ruin this with impatience.

“It hit Peter hard when Peggy died,” Steve then says, his voice barely above a whisper. Of course, Tony thinks albeit without accusation, this comes down to Steve’s dead wife again. He cannot imagine losing someone he planned to spend his entire life with. “I mean, we were naturally both devastated. He’s become much quieter since then, needs to touch the people he loves.”

That gives Tony a pause. He has no illusion that he plays any other role in Peter’s life other than the smart guy who deigned to listen to a kid during the expo, but he did notice that Peter was constantly reaching out to him tonight. Little touches, to tug at his sleeve or a pat to grab his attention. Leaning against him and whoever else was sitting close by. He had not thought it particularly strange, considering he is not an expert on children. Back when he was a child, he loved Jarvis’ hugs too, even though he was naturally wary of everybody else.

“He has nightmares,” Steve continues, looking slightly surprised that Tony has not interrupted him yet. “For a long time, giving Peter what he needs was what kept me going too. Losing her –” Steve presses a hand against over his eyes, almost like he wants to hide himself away. “It was love at first sight. I saw her and knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. It wasn’t easy, far from it, but losing her took all that away from me. All those dreams, such a big part of me.” Here, Steve looks up, his eyes wide and honest in a way that is hard to stomach. “I’m terrified that I won’t get through that again.”

The fear of being hurt is nothing new to Tony. When he went to MIT, he had already given up on making friends, right until Rhodey came along and proved him wrong. Still, it sometimes feels like he is conditioned to break his own heart over and over again, as if pain is just another muscle memory.

“But you don’t love me,” Tony points out evenly. It is not meant as an accusation.

He certainly does not love Steve. Not in that way Steve just described. On the other hand, Steve is very easy to love. Tony toyed with the thought of _more_ since they first went out to drink coffee together.

“Sam told me I’m projecting. That I have all these scenarios in my head of how things can go wrong that I start pushing people away. And I give myself seemingly logical reasons for it too,” Steve says instead of replying to Tony’s comment. He heard it, certainly, if the crease on his forehead is anything to go by. “After – I pushed Bucky away because he was already not doing so well mentally and didn’t need to deal with my grief on top of his own. I pushed Clint away because he likes to be inappropriate, no matter whether Peter is around. Sam because I didn’t need anyone telling me what to do and how to get better because we were doing just fine without him. And you –” Steve looks down at his hot chocolate but makes no move to pick it up. “Well, in a way, you pose the greatest danger to us because letting someone new in makes us vulnerable.”

It should sound ridiculous, like a terrible excuse. And yet, Tony knows exactly what Steve is trying to say. He is the king of pushing other people away, of locking himself away inside his workshop and allowing nobody close. People do strange things to avoid getting hurt again.

“And I’m a man,” Tony says, careful not to look like he is judging Steve’s confession. “Which is the easiest way to differentiate me from Peggy.”

In a way, Tony did the exact opposite from Steve. After he finally got away from Ty’s manipulations, he was exclusively dating women for a time. Until Sunset Bain, who ruined that particular coping strategy.

“Yes,” Steve exhales, not quite in relief, but perhaps glad that Tony has not yet run off.

“And what?” Tony asks, looking straight at Steve. “You know that now and promise me to mend your ways?” He does not want to provoke Steve, not even to discourage him, even, but he needs to know what is happening here.

Steve might have offered an explanation for his sudden bout of homophobia, but that does not mean he will not find another excuse down the road. It does not matter that Tony understands coping mechanisms. He has to look out for himself here, too.

“Bucky sat me down,” Steve says, seemingly changing the topic. “Of all people. He is the king of repressed emotions. But he made me realise that, no matter what we decide here, I need to tell you what I was feeling, and apologise to you.” His expression is honest enough that Tony drinks it in even while he wants to hide away from the vulnerability of it. “I _am_ sorry, Tony. You deserve better.”

There it is. He sounds and looks the part. He means it. And yet, instead of counting his blessings and giving in, Tony straightens in his seat.

“I don’t get it,” he says and sees Steve’s slight wince. “I mean, yes, pushing people away, I do that. That’s at the very top of the trauma 101.” Perhaps he should not be talking about that so blasé, but beating around the bush does not help them either. “But you didn’t just push. You were genuinely disgusted when I kissed you. That’s something different.”

It is impossible to describe Steve’s expression in that moment as anything other than disgust. The sheer horror burning out every last trace of enjoyment. The first time they kissed, he was spooked and fled, but the second time he had had time to process all those buried feelings and they bubbled to the surface with exploding force.

Steve’s fingers tap nervously against his mug and he picks it up to drink, hiding his face for a moment. Once he sets it down, his brows are set in determination.

“I never saw men as something I could be interested in,” Steve says and it sounds like a confession. “I never thought I could be gay.”

“Bisexual,” Tony corrects. It does not matter much whether they use the right terms in this conversation, but Steve still uses _gay_ as if he expects to be thrown in jail for it.

“What?”

“The term you’re looking for is bisexual,” Tony explains with more patience than he expected himself capable of. “As in someone who likes men and women. Which you should know since, considering some of the stories Clint and Bucky told today, they are both bi too. If you’ve accepted them, why not do the same for yourself?”

Steve stares at him, not quite in protest, but like he is afraid that saying whatever he is turning over in his head out loud will give it too much weight. Tony is no stranger to that fear, but they cannot adjourn this again.

“I –” Steve swallows audibly. “I was afraid it would somehow mean I loved Peggy less.”

That hits Tony like a punch in the stomach. Of all the people he knows, he would not have guessed Steve to be the one being worried about not having enough love.

“That is phenomenally stupid,” Tony blurts, and watches Steve’s expression turn from sheepish to dejected.

“I know –” Steve says, but Tony cuts him off.

“No. I don’t think you do.” Tony has to suppress the urge to get up to pace. He is not the best person to talk to about feelings, and this is a lesson he has learned too late in life, too, but Steve, with all these friends around him, who obviously love him, should not need Tony to tell him this. “You didn’t love her less after Peter was born, right? You didn’t love Bucky less after you met Peggy, or after you made other friends.” He takes a deep breath, forced his tone to be calmer. “My best friend’s mother likes to say the only thing that’s infinite in this world is our ability to love. I don’t care whether you’ll apply that to us or nothing changes on this front, but don’t ever think that your love is limited or that you can only love so much before you have to take it away from people again.”

He looks at Steve, makes sure that his words have sunk in, before he raises his cup and drinks, relishing the chance to hide his face. The hot chocolate barely tastes of anything at first since Tony concentrates on his breathing. Then the sweetness hits, mollifying him, reminding him of lazy afternoons spent in the kitchen with Jarvis.

The irony of him talking about a parent’s love does not escape Tony. He is sure his parents did not exactly love each other before he was born, but they definitely did not afterwards. They used him as the subject of their arguments too often.

In fact, Tony grew up believing that love was not for him. That nobody could love him, and he should bury his own love where nobody could taint it. Machines have always been easier. Letting people close always comes with the possibility of being hurt. It is so unbelievably rewarding, too, however, that Tony is not sure how he went so many years without it.

When he looks back up, Steve’s face is unreadable. His eyes are trained on Tony like they have never been before, as if Steve is really seeing him for the first time. It is uncomfortable as much as Tony hopes it means his words have made an impact.

“You sound rather passionate about that,” Steve finally says, sounding hoarse.

That is not the response Tony was hoping for. He is not used to opening up like that, and if he is to walk out of here tonight, never to come back, he is sure part of him will regret it.

“It took her years to make me understand that,” Tony says, still marvelling at the sheer patience of Rhodey’s mum, her willingness to take in damaged strays. “I felt like an intruder in her home for years, all because I was taught at home that no one could spare any love for me.” Sensing Steve’s protest, Tony keeps talking. “That’s nonsense, I know that now. The only one who can hold you back are you, and it’ll only hurt you in the long run if you do.”

Loving others has never been much of a problem for Tony. On the contrary, he loved too fast and too much. Always hoping he would get some of it back.

“She sounds like an amazing woman, your friend’s mother,” Steve says, looking down at his mug. Tony hopes that is because he is thinking, not because he is rejecting Tony’s words.

“She is,” Tony agrees. “Taught me all I know about family.”

He could add more, could hold an entire speech about why Steve should not beat himself down over what he is feeling or wanting. It would be a bit hypocritical, of course, since Tony still does not deal particularly healthily with emotional matters, but he has gotten much better than where he has come from.

He stays silent. It is Steve’s turn now, Steve’s decision.

And Steve hums before he looks up. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

Despite all evidence pointing to this going wrong from the very beginning, Tony’s heart sinks. He was by no means sure what he hoped Steve’s answer would be when he prepared to come here, standing outside on the sidewalk for long minutes before he found the courage to ring the bell. This is not a simple matter of whether Steve wants Tony, but also whether this can ever be healthy. It should not hurt that Steve is rejecting him.

“Is that a no, then? To me being here?” Tony has to ask, even though he does not particularly want to hear the answer.

Steve’s brows draw together. “No,” he says slowly. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

In a way, this is worse than explicit refusal. Tony does not want his presence to be a hardship, something to be suffered. He wants to be wanted.

“Steve,” he says with all the patience he can muster. “This is not a decision you can keep pushing on others. This is your life.” It is Tony’s life too, and he does not want to be toyed with anymore.

“Yes,” Steve says with more force than Tony expected, making the word ring in the kitchen. Quieter, he adds, “I want you to stay. I want to do this. I just think it won’t be that easy.”

Hope is rising in Tony’s chest but he pushes it down mercilessly. They have their _but_ right here, hanging in the air between them.

“Why?” Tony asks when it becomes clear that Steve will not keep talking without prompting.

Even then, Steve remains silent for a long minute. “Because, projection or not, I did keep telling myself I’m not into men, and you’re intimidating without taking that into account.”

That is not exactly the protest Tony has expected, but it is something he can work with. “What do you think is going to happen?” he asks, looking at Steve even though Steve is avoiding his eyes. “Do you expect me to you into your bedroom and mount you without preparation?” He has fantasised about taking Steve to bed, but he is actually rather fond of mutual consent. “That I’ll call a press conference and tell the whole wide world that Steve Rogers is gay for me?”

He watches Steve’s cheeks growing red, watches his shoulders draw together.

“No,” Steve says and nothing else.

“But?” Tony prompts with slight impatience colouring his tone.

For a long moment, it appears as if Steve will not say anything, that they will be stuck here and leave things unresolved. Then, Steve takes a deep breath.

“But I’m afraid that I won’t be enough and that you’ll realise that very soon and leave.” He is still not looking at Tony, but at least he is talking. And what he is saying could have been taken right out of the script running in the back of Tony’s mind. Usually _he_ is the one who is lacking what the other party needs.

“Not enough? Steve –”

“Look at me,” Steve cuts him off with a bitter chuckle. “I regularly take on side jobs because I insist on drawing full time. I have friends who are as likely to be arrested for public indecency as they are to stay home and build Lego things with Peter all night. My entire apartment could probably fit in your living room. I tend to get melancholy streaks and Peter is the only one who’ll get me out of bed. I’m damaged.” He looks at Tony, his eyes bright with both emotion and determination. “But you – you’re _brilliant_.”

Tony could counter this with a list of his own flaws. It would be easy, he would not even have to think about it. This is not what they are here for, though. They do not need to look for reasons why they will not work.

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you,” Tony says and smiles, although it feels like a mangled thing. “What do you think is so special about me?” There goes his decision not to spill his own faults. Well, it is probably fair to let Steve know what he is in for. “That I sit up there in my ivory tower, looking down at everybody else? That I’ve got more money than sense? That I forget the world around me when I lock myself in my workshop? That I regularly have to smile and shake hands with the who’s who of the terribly shallow people high society has to offer?”

Tony cuts himself off before he delves into his more personal flaws. “Don’t you see what you’ve got Steve?” he asks instead. “You have a beautiful family who would go from being relaxed and stupid to defending you to the blood in the blink of an eye. You have a home that’s filled with love. You’re genuine and passionate and loyal. That’s more than I can say of most other people I know.”

This was not supposed to derails into a love confession and Tony hopes Steve cannot hear the longing in his voice. Steve might be damaged, that is true, but the world he lives in is still beautiful, despite the cracks. In comparison, Tony’s life is cold and repetitive.

Now, it is Tony staring down at his hands. He stands by what he said, but he is afraid what Steve will make of it.

“You mean that?” Steve asks, sounding small and vulnerable the way Tony feels inside.

“Of course, I do.”

They look at each other and Tony has to push down hard on the instinct to reach out. Not to kiss Steve, but to make sure that he is really there, to feel his heartbeat. The hot chocolate has cooled by now and he is craving warmth.

Steve clears his throat, effectively destroying the moment. “Well, you’re wrong about what you said about yourself,” Steve says, sounding determined all of a sudden instead of afraid. “But I’ll have time to show you that.”

“You’ll have –” The words take a moment to register and then Tony can only stare. “What does that mean?”

Immediately, a hint of embarrassment creeps back in Steve’s expression, but he keeps his eyes on Tony. “I’m in if you are.”

This sounds altogether too much like are marching off into a fight together, but it is a step forward, Tony supposes.

“Well –” he tries to say but is interrupted by a new voice coming from the doorway.

“Could you two please shut up and kiss already?” Clint stands in the entrance to the kitchen, barefoot and leaning against the wall. He is pale and bleary-eyed. But somehow still manages to glare at them.

“Or maybe keep the kissing for later,” he continues when neither Tony nor Steve find anything to say. “You’re both wonderful and you’re perfect for each other. End of story. Or beginning. Just stop yapping about it and let me sleep.”

Tony fights the damning urge to giggle. Here they are, arguing about their possibly lacking virtues, moving neither forth nor back, while Clint, who looks like a zombie, was likely tossing and turning on the couch, forced to listen to them. It is inappropriately funny.

“We were letting you sleep,” Steve says, managing to sound stern despite his bewildered expression.

Tony raises a hand to his mouth to hide the smile he cannot suppress.

“Steve,” Clint all but whines. “Your self-pity is loud enough to wake the dead.” Then he schools his expression into something more serious and points at Tony, even while keeping his eyes on Steve. “By the way, this one’s a keeper. If you muck this up, you’ll have us to answer to.”

While Steve groans, Tony is still smiling. This is not how he expected this evening to end, but at least it got them out of circling around each other. And Steve was just about to say he might want to try again. So, success on all levels.

“Shouldn’t you give me the shovel talk?” Tony asks, although he is not particularly eager to face Steve’s friends alone. A half-asleep Clint might be all right, but with the others backing him up, Tony would not stand a chance.

“You’re a smart guy.” Clint shrugs and flashes a grin at Tony. “And keeping this one in line is punishment enough.” Clapping his hands, he steps fully into the kitchen. “Now, did you at least make coffee?”

With a long-suffering expression, Steve says, “I thought you wanted to sleep.”

As an adult, Steve should know that the two are not mutually exclusive, but Tony decides not to join the argument. He is quite satisfied with the development of the night.

“And I will,” Clint answers sagely. “Once you two locked the bedroom door behind you.” When he reaches the coffee machine and finds it turned off and no coffee in sight, he sighs in disappointment.

Steve sputters, growing beet-red again, so Tony takes pity on him. “I don’t think that’ll happen any time soon.”

Clint’s expression says he disagrees, but then he shakes his head at Tony as if in admonishment. “Get your head out of the gutter, Stark. I didn’t suggest you have sex while I’m trying to get some shuteye one room over.”

He shudders visibly, and this time, Tony cannot quite contain his laugh. A lightness fills him that he has not felt in ages.

“It’s not like that has ever stopped Bucky and you,” Steve mutters, not quite over his embarrassment, but apparently unwilling to let Tony stand his ground on his own.

“Contrary to you,” Clint says with a great amount of satisfaction, “we don’t have any shame.” Instead of a cup, he reaches for a glass and fills it with water.

“I barely know you and I can already say that is true,” Tony agrees, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

“As I said, you’re smart,” Clint says and gestures with the hand holding the glass, thus spilling water over himself. “Now, good night, love birds.”

He walks out with a last grin at them, leaving Tony and Steve to stare at each other. As if on command, they burst out laughing. Deep, belly-aching heaps of laughter.

Perhaps they will be all right. They certainly made the first step in the right direction. Now they just have to keep marching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done. (That happened quicker than I thought. Then again, between work and trying to get as much sleep as I can, time has lost all meaning.)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Thank you for reading this so far. Hope you'll like the rest of it.

The next morning, Tony is rudely awakened by a shriek and something dropping onto his legs only to bounce back up and land dangerously close to his ribcage. Before he is fully aware where he is, he curls up to protect his vital organs.

“Peter, stop that,” someone calls next to him, bringing Tony back to the present with a jolt.

Right, he is with Steve and Peter. More specifically, he is in Steve’s bed, being assaulted by an excited nine-year-old with no consideration for the fact that they stayed up much longer than he did.

Tony blinks and concentrates on Peter’s Spider-Man pyjamas, just so he does not have to look too closely at how it makes him feel to wake up next to Steve. Nothing happened the night before, of course. In fact, convincing Steve that it would be ridiculous for him to sleep on the floor took a great deal of work. Neither of them wanted Tony to leave, so the idea was dismissed quickly, although the reasoning was rather threadbare. 

After Clint sent them unceremoniously off to bed, they still stayed up for hours to talk. The darkness in the bedroom made it easier somehow and Steve had taken Tony’s hand at some point – which was nice but remained their only contact throughout the night. They are both wary not to rush this. 

“You’re still here,” Peter squeals, grinning as if he would get a second birthday party today. “I was afraid you’d argue again with Dad and never come back.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Steve bite his lip. He looks deliciously rumpled in the morning, not as put together as Tony has become used to seeing him.

Tony shifts his position so he can sit up more comfortably and less like he expects to be attacked any second now. “I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye,” Tony says, glad that he did not have to break Peter’s heart. “And your Dad and I talked and, well, it looks like I’m not going anywhere for now.”

It takes some effort not to let that sound like a question. They were rather clear the night before, but perhaps Steve’s opinion has changed, now that a new day is before them. When he looks at Steve, however, all he can see is a warm smile.

“Really?” Peter asks.

Waiting for Steve’s nod, Tony smiles. “Promise.”

Peter jumps up, bouncing on the bed again as he laughs. Before he can come close to hitting their legs or stomachs again, Steve reaches out and pulls Peter close, keeping them safe for the moment. Peter squirms only a little until he can lean forward.

“That means we can build the robot together,” he says. His grin gets, impossibly, even wider.

Tony watches as Steve opens his mouth, likely to scold Peter that Tony is not only there for his own amusement, but Tony says quickly, “Definitely.”

He knows Peter does not mean it like that, remembers when he used to offer a reason for others to spend time with him. Peter does not seem like he is used to rejection, but he has lost someone important to him, and desperate not to lose anybody else.

Laughing, Peter turns and hugs Steve closely. “Love you, Dad,” he says before pushing away and throwing himself into Tony’s arms.

He holds onto Tony so tightly that Tony cannot breathe for a moment. Perhaps that is because of the emotions flooding his chest, because it feels suddenly that he is exactly where he wants to be.

“I love you too, bud,” Steve says with unmistakable fondness. His eyes are glistening as he looks at the two of them, his smile is a bit watery but nonetheless honest. “Now,” he clears his throat, “why don’t you go and brush your teeth while Tony and I get out of bed? And wake up your Uncle Clint while you’re at it.”

Peter gets to his feet and jumps off the bed. “Uncle Bucky picked him up an hour ago. And he brought muffins.”

Steve’s smile turns into more of a grimace, likely because their secret is out without them having a chance to do some damage control. If Tony’s estimation of their friendship is right, they have all been in contact the moment Bucky and Clint were out of the door, just waiting for Tony to leave so they can ambush Steve.

“That’s nice of him,” Steve says, sounding a bit strained, although he takes care that Peter does not pick up on it.

“And I set the table,” Peter continues, oblivious. Then he adds, almost sheepishly as if he does not want to admit his hope, “With a plate for Tony.”

It is a novel feeling, to have someone want him close this way. Someone always needs something from Tony, but Peter’s interest is as innocent as it is endearing. He has simply taken a liking to Tony and now does not want to watch him go.

“Very well done,” Steve praises.

Peter nods and moves toward the door, only to stop again and look at Tony. “You’ll stay for breakfast?”

Not wasting any time, Tony says, “Of course.” The words hold almost too much fervour for such a simple question, so he adds, somewhat jokingly, “I heard there are muffins.”

Still, Peter does not seem entirely convinced. “And you won’t disappear while I’m in the bathroom?”

Tony’s heart breaks a little, just looking at the way Peter’s eyes shine with worry. It is a bit easier to understand Steve’s hesitation now, even apart from his own issues. Peter has gotten attached too quickly, and one day someone will hurt him again. That will not be Tony, however. Not by his own choice.

“I promise I won’t disappear on you,” Tony says, his voice solemn.

Finally convinced, Peter’s smile comes back, and he leaves them, seemingly taking all noise with him since silence falls abruptly around Tony and Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Steve then says with half a groan as he turns to face Tony. He almost looks as if he thinks Peter’s sudden appearance has ruined something between them.

“Don’t be,” Tony replies quickly. He does not need an apology for Peter being happy to see him. “I’m flattered. And I’ll do my best not to disappoint him.”

That is a big promise and it will not only be up to Tony to keep it, but he needs Steve to know that he is serious about this, about them.

Still a bit sheepish, Steve says, “Thank you.”

Feeling daring, Tony reaches out and takes his hand. “Don’t do that either,” he chides gently. Then, allowing the happiness bubbling inside his chest to come to the surface, he smiles widely. “I just got a morning hug. That already rates today in my top ten mornings ever.”

That has the desired effect to make Steve laugh. He squeezes Tony’s hand and looks comfortable again in his own skin.

Together, they start into the new day.

* * *

Things become so much easier after that. Tony is still cautious and Steve is still worried, but they both want this to go right now. They meet several times a week and talk on the phone when they do not. They kiss again, and Steve wonders how he could have denied himself that. It is wonderful, and it feels as if his life is finally back on track to a good place. The little voice in the back of his head does not try to convince him this is wrong anymore. Instead, it starts sounding more and more like Peggy telling him he deserves to be happy, even though he is terrified of that.

Happiness has never turned out well for Steve. His childhood ended abruptly with his mother getting sick. The beginning of his adult life turned sour by Bucky losing his arm and them both barely hanging on to their sanity. His own family broke so soon after they came together. Steve does not want this to end too. 

The cracks are already glaringly obvious. Tony does not write him texts unprompted as often as he used to, as if he is not sure he would not disturb Steve. And as openly affectionate he is in private, he takes care to always keep a respectable distance between them when they are out in the open. Perhaps Steve does not have a right to feel hurt by that, considering that he and his wrong sense of propriety are the reason for that. In the end, though, that offers him the perfect opportunity to beat the demons always following at his heels.

They are walking through Central Park after having lunch together, and Steve can barely listen to what Tony is saying about some project of his because he gets distracted by the way the sunlight makes Tony’s eyes glow. Or the fondness for Steve, he is not sure.

This is it, Steve thinks and ignores the way his heart somersaults. All it takes is one long stride, and he is right up next to Tony, pushing into his space with hopeful insistence. He thinks of kissing Tony right here, surrounded by people in the middle of New York. Instead, he starts small.

His hand finds Tony’s easily, as if they are drawn to each other. He knows the callouses on Tony’s skin by now, has traced them one by one in the safety of their apartments. Now he greets them as old friends as their fingers intertwine.

Caught up in exhilarating feeling of doing something that he thought forbidden for so long, Steve almost does not notice that Tony has stopped talking abruptly and frozen in place. He looks up to find Tony’s wide eyes on him, questioning as much as worried.

“What are you doing, Steve?” Tony asks, slowly as if he fears Steve has lost his mind.

That boosts Steve’s courage more than any of the mock-arguments he had with himself over the past weeks. He has hurt Tony once before by denying the affection he feels. That cannot happen again.

“Taking your hand,” Steve answers lightly, pretending there is nothing to it. And now that he has done the impossible, he is only slightly surprised that the sky is not falling down and people are not staring at them, whispering of their coming doom.

“But we’re in public,” Tony cautions, sounding like it physically hurts him to protest this, even while he is still adamant on not pushing Steve into something he does not want or might be uncomfortable with. 

“And we’re together.” Steve tugs at Tony’s hands to get them moving again and, after a brief moment of hesitation, Tony gives in. His eyes are still worried, but his lips are already pulling into a smile, blinding in its happiness.

They could have had this without all the drama, he realises, if only he were better at accepting things as they are. He has been told a million times that his stubbornness is his least attractive trait, since it gets them into trouble more often than not. The mere thought of how close he came to missing this, of pushing Tony out of his life just because he was afraid, has a shudder running through him. But they are here now.

For another minute, Tony is silent as if he is still weighing whether Steve’s forwardness is not just a trick of his mind. And Steve lets him think. He does not want to ruin this by making a big deal out of it.

Finally, Tony’s step becomes lighter next to him. “Now, I will not let go of your hand to go back to work,” Tony says, no more trepidation in his voice. “How about we find a museum and look at some terrible art and you can convince me it’s not terrible at all?”

“That last museum was not terrible,” Steve argues but stops when Tony laughs.

Despite the amusement in the sound, Tony’s face is serious when he says, “Not when I looked at it through your eyes.”

Realisation strikes Steve with all the power of unleashed lighting. He will fall in love with Tony. More than that, he is already halfway there. The thought is terrifying but it never even crosses his mind to run. Instead, he squeezes Tony’s hand and steers them with a purpose to one of his favourite small galleries.

Tony is right. He has no desire to let go of him yet, either. Already, their hands feel like they were made for holding each other.

* * *

Things turned from tentatively good to terribly bad and back to wonderful so quickly that Tony almost got whiplash from it. Nothing in Steve’s behaviour indicates that this will change again but in the quiet of his bedroom at night, Tony does still worry. If only until another text from Steve arrives or they meet again. He wants this to go right, and that makes him clingy. These days, though, Steve is holding onto him just as tightly.

Tony spent his morning in the workshop, getting some work done to keep himself from looking at his watch every couple minutes to see whether it is already time to go to Steve’s They do not even have any particular plans apart from helping with some Lego monstrosity of Peter’s. The press would surely not believe his love of domesticity, but Tony is happier than he has been in a long while.

Finally, he stands before Steve’s door – and comes face to face with one Bucky Barnes who is wearing an apologetic expression that Tony does not believe for a moment.

“Steve had to go into work suddenly,” Bucky says with a twinkle in his eye that Tony cannot quite interpret, although he is sure it means nothing good. “But he told me to keep you company.”

The addition is the only thing that keeps Tony’s heart from plummeting. This does not sound like Bucky is only here to throw Tony out. Steve is just out doing something else and will come a little later.

“An art emergency? On a Sunday?” Tony asks, barely suppressing a flinch at how croaky his voice sounds. He has been waiting for the other shoe to drop but he desperately hopes this is not it. Surely Steve would have no qualms of ending things with him himself.

A sheepish expression flits over Bucky’s face as if he only now realises how flimsy that sounds, but then his smile is back. “Someone might have poured coffee over one of the art pieces and now they need a surrogate.”

There is no doubt anymore that something is off here, considering the grin fighting to spread over Bucky’s face. However, Tony begins to think he is not the butt of the joke here.

“On a Sunday?” he repeats, more firmly this time.

“That someone might have been Clint. And the coffee might have been imaginative.” Bucky grimaces. “We know better than to mess with Stevie’s art.”

He steps back from the door to let Tony in, even though he was not exactly blocking it before. It is just a more obvious invitation for Tony to enter. Only Tony does not budge.

“So what’s this about?” he asks, keeping his face neutral with some effort. “Are you here to scare me off?”

What other reasons would Steve’s friends have for a ploy like this? Why would they want to separate them? Lure Tony somewhere he cannot just lock them out until they have said their piece?

“On the contrary,” Bucky answers but sounds less amused now. Perhaps he is realising his joke backfired.

Tony crosses his arms before him and makes no move to step into the apartment. “Shovel talk?”

Bucky exhales and straightens his shoulder. “Steve’s trying to keep you all to himself, even though you seem to suffer from the same kind of madness as all of us if Peter’s birthday is anything to go by,” he says, sounding just a tad sheepish, although he still does not make much sense.

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Tony says but relaxes his position somewhat. It seems that nobody in this patchwork family quite knows how to healthily express their feelings, and Tony does not exclude himself from that. “You sent Steve off using a very threadbare excuse, just because you wanted some playtime of your own?”

It cannot be that simple, and yet Bucky nods. “Peter and Clint are picking up pizza as we speak.”

Proper communication is hard, but Tony thinks this might top any of his social blunders. With a sigh, he steps into the apartment and has to fight to keep his stern expression when Bucky follows him like a lost puppy.

“Will Steve be all right?” he asks because that is the most important thing. No matter whether Clint and Bucky had good intentions, it is not all right to mess with Steve’s work and relationship.

“Of course,” Bucky answers with a vehemence that shows he knows exactly which lines not to cross. “It will take him some time to find someone with a key but then he’ll see that his art is untouched. By then, of course, he’ll figure out this was us and then he’ll come home to murder us.” With more bravado than sense, he adds, “But your presence will save us.”

Tony cannot help the laugh bursting over his lips. His presence will not do any such thing. “You seem surprisingly sure that I will save you,” Tony says as he walks towards the kitchen. It might do them some good to set the table because Steve likes to do things properly and the danger of smashed plates might keep him from chasing his friends through the entire apartment.

“He’s also disinclined to kill in front of Peter,” Bucky says, entirely unconcerned. It will forever be a miracle how a group of so many dangerously unhinged personalities made it this far in life.

“I’m here to look after Peter for however long Steve takes with you,” Tony offers lightly. The weather is nice. They could take a walk and go for some ice cream.

Bucky frowns and offers much more hesitantly, “We survived until now.”

“To everybody’s surprise.”

It feels natural to banter with Steve’s friends. Even during Peter’s party, when things were still uncertain and stilted between Steve and him, Tony fit into their group with a dazzling ease. He does not want to lose this either, this group of people that do not seem to want his money or connections because they are content with who they are.

“You’re mean,” Bucky whines. Then, as if he read Tony’s thoughts, he adds, “I like you.”

Tony stops in front of the kitchen counter and grins at Bucky. “You’re insane, but I like you too.”

They nod at each other almost as if a pact has been made, before Bucky turns to the cupboard. “Come on then, once we get the table set, we can get the best seats on the couch.”

* * *

When they are halfway through the pizza Clint and Peter brought, the door to the apartment flies open and even before they see Steve storming into the living room, they hear a breathless, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Everybody sinks instinctively deeper into the cushions. Well, everybody but Tony who is busy staring at Bucky, fighting not to laugh at his ridiculous name.

“Uh oh,” Clint sings, even as worry crosses over his face. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“And Clinton Francis Barton,” Steve yells, which only heightens Tony’s misplaced amusement.

“It’s both of us,” Clint squeaks. “We’re both in trouble.”

“Relax,” Bucky replies but wisely puts his plate down. “We knew this would happen.”

Clint snaps his head around to stare at Bucky. “That doesn’t mean it still sounds like a good idea.”

At that moment, Steve appears in the living room door. He looks gorgeous with his cheeks flushed and his eyes burning. It puts entirely inappropriate pictures into Tony’s head. Wrestling to keep his countenance, Tony decides to take pity on the two idiots sitting next to him.

“Hey, honey,” he greets, his voice full of innocence. “I heard there was a mishap at work. Did you manage to sort it out?”

For a brief moment, Steve’s expression softens as his eyes fall on Tony. “You’re here.” Beneath his trembling indignation, he sounds genuinely happy and Tony’s heart soars in response.

“Bucky and Clint decided to keep me company.” At some point during their meal, Tony realised he was enjoying himself so much that he would at least try to soften the blow coming for them. “We made sure that Peter had some vegetables with his pizza.”

As expected, the reminder that Peter is right here with them, calms down Steve even more. Then he narrows his eyes, though, and Tony realises that Steve’s calm anger might be more dangerous than his agitated one.

“Did you know what they were planning?” Steve asks, almost luring Tony into a wrong sense of safety with how little expression he shows.

Tony has been taught how to navigate business deals from the moment he could talk, however. He knows when a situation threatens to turn south.

“As if I’d let them do that,” Tony scoffs, dropping all pretence. Next to him, Bucky and Clint stare at him with betrayal on their faces but he does not have any pity for them. They dug this hole for themselves and Tony will not go down with them. “I’d be happy to take Peter out for ice cream if you want to have a word with your friends.” With a small grin, he adds, “And I know an excellent cleaning service that does not ask any questions.”

Clint gasps dramatically as Bucky mutters, “Traitor,” under his breath.

Peter, on the other hand, who was content with just watching what was going to happen until now, jumps up from the couch and shouts, “Ice cream,” completely oblivious to the racketing tension.

“You knew what you were getting into,” Tony says unapologetically. He might be in the process of throwing them under the bus, but he would prefer to be out of hitting range rather sooner than later.

“Dad,” Peter says when nobody moves for a moment. “I want ice cream.”

They all wait for Steve’s judgement. Seeing most of his family together has clearly mellowed his anger already, and he would not yell in front of Peter. Finally, he sighs. “Why don’t you see what we’ve got in the freezer?”

So there will be no murder tonight. Bucky and Clint relax immediately, even though that only prompts Steve’s expression to grow stern again. This is definitely not over either.

“Go ahead, underoos,” Tony says with a smile. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Peter knows they want him out of the room to talk and he does not like it. He does not like arguments either, Tony has already learned that, so the promise of ice cream and escaping the tension in the living room wins out.

Steve waits until Peter is gone and they hear the kitchen door close. Then he turns to his friends. “Bucky, Clint.” Just that. No threat, no question, no speech. It is enough, however.

“We wanted to have some time with Tony without you hovering over his shoulder,” Bucky sulks, one shoulder slightly raised as if he just barely thought better of shrugging.

Steve takes a step forward, suddenly looking threatening again.

“You could have called,” Tony throws in before Steve can speak. He is not sure why he is standing up for these idiots, but he did have fun with them, even though he could do without the stress of going behind Steve’s back. He is trying to build something good here, after all.

With a rather sullen look at Tony, Clint says, “You sound like you want him to kill us.”

“I’ve got my loyalties straight,” Tony replies with a shrug. He is here for Steve, because he is slowly falling in love. Because he wants this to work out more than anything.

“This was not okay,” Steve says but sounds tired more than angry. They are all primed for disaster at every turn and it is exhausting.

An apology written all over his face, Bucky nods. “We know. It’s just that you weren’t telling us anything, and we were worried you’d –” He interrupts himself as if his courage has left him, but then he cocks his head to the side and adds, “That you’d mess this up.”

_Again_ goes unsaid but hangs heavily in the air. Steve drops his gaze, The fight has not gone out of him completely, but the reminder of how close he has come to not having this does its part.

“I would have put it more politely,” Clint chimes up, obviously trying to salvage the situation even if that makes things worse for him again. Sometimes Tony thinks he will never understand these people and how they work.

“You wouldn’t know polite if it hit you in the face,” Bucky scoffs. He never takes his eyes off Steve, likely worrying whether he has gone too far.

Clint opens his mouth to shoot back but snaps it shut immediately when Steve looks up again.

“Next time just say something.”

Easier said than done, Tony thinks. It might be that everybody in this family has a problem with proper communication.

True enough, Bucky answers, “Because you’re so good at listening.”

“Don’t mess with my work,” Steve says instead of admitting anything. “Ever again.”

Before they can continue their helpless back and forth and fall into a proper fight, Peter comes back. “We’ve got chocolate chip,” he announces just a tad too loud. It is obvious he wants to break up whatever arguing is still going on.

“That’s nice,” Steve says warmly, all the hardness falling off him. “I’m sure Tony will help you get plates and spoons for us all.”

Peter does not need the help, but Tony gets up without protest. Bucky and Clint have been Steve’s family long before Tony entered the picture. He will give them all the time they need. Before he leaves the room, though, he walks up to Steve and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, just intimate enough to remind him that they are both all right.

“I missed you,” he says quietly. “But they kept me entertained and didn’t mean any harm.”

It is not exactly his place to defend Bucky and Clint’s stupid actions. Nobody should mess with their work. He does not want Steve to be angry at them on Tony’s behalf on top of that, however.

“Missed you too,” Steve answers and cups Tony’s face for a brief moment. They could lose themselves like that, just looking at each other, and Tony would do so happily – but preferably without an audience.

With a last smile, he turns away. “Do you know what’s the best part about setting the table, underoos?” he asks as he puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder and steers them both back to the kitchen. “We get to sample the ice cream. We need to make sure it’s still good enough to serve out guests, after all.”

Tony says _our_ as if there is nothing to it, as if this is already and irrevocably his home. Warmth spreads through his chest when, instead of protesting, Steve just smiles warmly at him and Peter takes his hand to drag him off.

Yes, he thinks, he is exactly where he wants to be. He is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting and accompanying me on this (brief) journey.  
> I wish you all the best.
> 
> If you have wishes or prompts come find me on tumblr - [blancheludis](https://blancheludis.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope I'll manage to get the next chapter up next weekend. It's mostly written already, but I've got a weekend shift to get through.


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